


Selflessly Devoted to You

by BonesawMcGrande



Category: Dangan, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Artistic Liberties, Certain instances of OOC might appear, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Might add more tags as i go, Not exactly your typical full-blown romance, Other, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tweaked Hope's Peak a bit since I don't know the entirety of its canon layout, Ultimate Talent Development Plan (Dangan Ronpa), Work In Progress, a bit of Angst with a happy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 94,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesawMcGrande/pseuds/BonesawMcGrande
Summary: He is a former tennis player who threw his life away. She is a maid with a personal code of helping those who need it. As their paths cross within the confines of Hope's Peak Academy and they begin establishing a unique bond together, their lives unfold into a whole new journey.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Saihara Shuichi, Chabashira Tenko/Yumeno Himiko, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito, Hoshi Ryoma/Tojo Kirumi, Iruma Miu/K1-B0
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157





	1. Welcome to Hope's Peak

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is gonna be interesting. I originally uploaded this on FFN, but I decided to try it out here as well. Chapter uploads should come every two weeks or so, depending on work and what free time I can get to bounce between two fics, since I have another fic in progress on FFN as well. Cheers!
> 
> (edit: had to do a quick change of the title "Selfless Devotion" because there's already another fic with the same title)

Ryoma looked up at the buildings that towered above him. Brick walls, glass panes and cold steel—an imposing edifice, to be sure. _Add some bars on the windows and it won’t seem that different from where I just came from._ Still, it was more inviting than prison; instead of inmates walking in orderly fashion with chains connecting them together by their feet, there were huge gaggles of students walking in and out, happily chatting with one another and seemingly excited for what the first day of school would bring. All of them looked so carefree and joyous, passing him by without so much as a sideways glance towards his direction. Ryoma wondered for a moment whether he should feel relieved or disappointed with that. He chewed his candy cigarette slowly and glanced back up at the school.

When he had been informed that he was being invited to study at Hope’s Peak Academy, Ryoma had scoffed at the idea. Perhaps no one had bothered to inform the school’s officials that the “Ultimate Tennis Pro” they had been scouting for was already locked up for life. Perhaps the letter he received was merely a cruel joke meant to taunt him with the prospect of being released. Still, things took a more interesting turn when he was approached by the prison warden days later and told almost grudgingly that Hope’s Peak had made the necessary procedures and secured the proper documents for his momentary release so that he could study there. Ryoma’s wonder had risen a bit at that. If the school had the power to convince the higher-ups in the judicial system to let him go, then maybe this was no joke after all. Still, he had packed what little belongings he had left with silent skepticism. If Hope's Peak Academy was willing to waste its time with the likes of him, then that was no longer his problem.

As he walked past the school’s wrought iron gates, Ryoma observed his fellow students in silence. Some of them were wearing the traditional brown-colored uniforms that Hope’s Peak Academy had, but most were sporting attires that matched their Ultimate talents and made them stand out quite a bit. As for Ryoma himself, the striped black-and-blue jumpsuit and black shoes he wore made him look more like a prisoner than anything else, and though the black leather jacket he wore over it served to hide that fact from immediate notice, the metal cuff on his left leg often drew more attention from people as its short chains rattled lightly with every other step he made. The only visible sign that told others of his identity as the Ultimate Tennis Pro was the blue crest on the pointy-eared black beanie he wore, showing a pair of crossed tennis racket shapes.

Ryoma soon saw upon entering the school that Hope’s Peak Academy was a lot more complex than it looked, with the towers and facilities that jutted out all over it. Hundreds of voices seemed to buzz in the hallways, and just as many footsteps echoed as students walked on polished floors on their way to wherever it was that they would be going. There were also courtyards at various places, decorated by tall trees and trimmed shrubs, with stone benches sitting next to flagstone paths. These led off to various areas in the academy, from the open field to the faculty buildings to the various facilities in the Reserve Course’s quarter. At times, he espied some Reserve Course students whispering excitedly and looking rather envious as they observed the Ultimates passing by, their black uniforms setting them apart from the Main Course’s brown garb. He had heard about how these students studied at the school with the hopes of being accepted as an Ultimate one day. _And any one of them is more worthy of a spot in the Main Course than I am, that’s for sure._

After a few minutes of walking, Ryoma realized that no one had told him where to go. Given that it was his first day at the academy, there was no one he could look to for directions, nor had he met any of his classmates just yet. Luckily, an announcement played out on the school’s PA system then and there, instructing the new Ultimates to gather in the gymnasium for the morning.

The gymnasium was already housing quite a number of Ultimates when Ryoma entered. Many had gathered on the gym’s hardwood courts, though some opted to stay up on the nearby bleachers and away from the throng of students below them, choosing to let the majority pass by. Some students in white uniforms with red armbands—members of some school committee or council, Ryoma deduced—walked around instructing students to check out the class lists that have been tacked onto bulletin boards that have been set up on the courts in case they needed to know which class they belonged to.

As he approached the bulletin boards to follow their lead, however, Ryoma soon realized what a laughably futile task it seemed to be to take a look at the class lists. Standing at just above four feet tall, he was shorter than any of the students around him, so the bulletin boards were out of the question. This was not the first time that he was reminded of how short he was, but at least it was different from prison where many of his fellow inmates openly mocked him for it. He looked up at the class lists, wondering for a moment how he would be able to find his name and class without having to bother anyone for help.

“Do you need assistance?” a polite female voice rang out.

Ryoma raised his eyebrows in surprise; even in the jumble of voices in the gymnasium, he could tell that the question was directed towards him, given that it came from someone standing right next to him. He craned his head and looked up at the speaker—a tall, graceful-looking and beautiful young woman. She had short, pale sandy blonde hair that barely reached her shoulders, and her lengthy bangs covered part of her beautiful face, giving her a mysterious aura. To further complement her elegant air, she was wearing a maid uniform—a white dress covered by a frilled black apron dress with a spider web motif, with matching black gloves, tights and grey shoes. A frilled lace headdress adorned her hair, while a purple tie around her neck completed her refined look even as she carried in front of her a black tote bag, confirming her identity as another student.

Ryoma took his candy cigarette away from his mouth to speak. “Did I look like I needed help?” he asked quietly.

The young woman bowed her head dutifully. “Forgive me, I did not mean to be rude,” she said with courteous sincerity. “I was observing you for a moment and saw that you seemed to have trouble looking at the class lists.”

Shifting where he stood, Ryoma grunted. “Sorry about that,” he said with a slightly gentler tone. “I might’ve come off a bit too serious there. . .”

“I understand,” said the young woman, giving him a polite smile. At that, she suddenly straightened up and put down her bag. “It seems I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. I am Kirumi Tojo, the Ultimate Maid,” she said, bowing respectfully again.

Ryoma nodded, knowing that her talent should be obvious from the maid uniform that she was wearing. Kirumi went on. “You are Ryoma Hoshi, correct?”

“So you recognized me,” Ryoma muttered.

“There are very few people who wouldn’t recognize a renowned athlete like you, I presume,” said Kirumi.

Ryoma scoffed. “No one’s approached me just yet to ask,” he said. “But to answer your question . . . yeah, that’s me.” _Or who I used to be, anyway._

Kirumi inclined her head. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ryoma. Please let me know if you require my service in anything.”

Ryoma nodded back. “Same. But what do you mean by ‘service?’”

Again, Kirumi straightened up and folded her hands in front of her. “As a maid, I am here to serve and fulfill the desires of others,” she replied with a dignified air. “Though we may be schoolmates, it is my responsibility to tend to whatever needs that you and others have. That is the duty of a maid, after all.”

“I see. . .” said Ryoma. “Well, I hope I don’t get in the way of your duties. Or anyone else’s in the school, for that matter.”

“I will do my best not to hinder you in any way when I go to fulfill my responsibilities,” said Kirumi. “Now, do you still require assistance in viewing the class lists?”

“Huh? Oh, right. . .” Ryoma glanced back at the lists on the bulletin boards. “Well, seeing as I’m not exactly the tallest person in town, it’d be stupid of me if I said I didn’t need help at the moment.”

Kirumi bowed her head. “Then it shall be my pleasure to assist you.”

With that, Ryoma stood back as Kirumi stepped forward to peruse the class lists in silence. Other Ultimate students were doing the same around them, careful not to crowd around the bulletin boards too much. Ryoma half-expected a student to recognize who he was and talk to him as he stood there waiting, but Kirumi finished reading through the lists relatively quickly. She turned to him with a smile.

“It appears that we’re not just schoolmates, but classmates as well,” she said. “Class 80-A, as the list states.”

“Huh. Looks like this first day’s already got a surprise in store,” Ryoma muttered. “Well, better than getting lost around here on your own, I suppose.”

Kirumi’s smile faded as her dutiful demeanor returned. “Perhaps we can both set about and start looking for our classroom, then?” she asked, picking up her bag.

“Yeah. There’s not much else to do around here right now, anyway,” said Ryoma.

Together, the two of them left the gymnasium and made their way back to the main building. The corridors were still crowded with students, though some were also looking for their classmates and classrooms instead of simply wandering around. Ryoma soon saw that apart from a colorful roster of Ultimates, the school also had its fair share of renowned athletes; he spotted the famed fiery-haired baseball ace Leon Kuwata leaning against the doorway of a classroom, chatting with a gaggle of excited girls; he also saw boxing world champion Juzo Sakakura walking down a corridor with his two companions in silence, his dark fur-lined jacket enhancing his chiseled physique even further; and in the distance a few meters later, he spotted the massive, muscle-bound frame and the long white mane of renowned martial artist Sakura Ogami, whom he had watched on television before as she competed in martial arts competitions abroad. To Ryoma’s slight discomfiture, their presence and talents reminded him of his own reputation in tennis, and that he would be easily counted among such distinguished competitors by the other students once they recognized him, which should not be that difficult to do soon enough.

Given that he and Kirumi have been walking in complete silence for more than a few minutes now, Ryoma spoke up. “You’re not very talkative, are you?” he asked as they finished climbing up their second set of stairs.

Kirumi inclined her head. “Forgive me. I was taking a look at the signs outside these rooms. We should be arriving at our classroom in a few moments.”

“I see. I’m not much of a talkative person myself, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m ignoring you or anything,” Ryoma stated. “If anything, _you_ should be ignoring _me_.”

“Why is that?” asked Kirumi.

Ryoma grunted. “If you really knew who I am, then I’m sure you don’t need to ask why.”

Silence followed his words, punctuated only by the chains on his ankle as they jingled with every other step, providing some emphasis to his reply. He sensed just how smart and intuitive Kirumi was, so there was no doubt that she would know something as infamous as his appearance on the news across the country about a year ago.

“I know what you are talking about,” said Kirumi at last. “I apologize.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Ryoma. “I just want you to know that . . . it’s pretty dangerous to just be walking up to someone like me.”

Though he knew that his words might sound intimidating, he did not put any air of menace or malice in them, nor did he state them to scare Kirumi off. To her credit, Kirumi also seemed to think the same way as she replied, “I understand. But please do not hesitate to approach me if you need my services. Likewise, I would do the same if I feel that I could help you in any way—with your express permission, of course.”

 _Sticking with her responsibilities through and through._ Ryoma regarded her for a moment, wondering just how the Ultimate Maid went about her duties if she was this serious, but he chose not to say anything else for now. Faced with someone so professional and proper, he did not want to seem any ruder than he had any right to be.

When the two of them finally reached the door marked “80-A,” a boy and a girl were already standing in front of it, glancing from the door’s tag to one of the school brochures in their hands. The raven-haired boy was clad in a double-breasted black uniform with grey pinstripes, along with a black hat that was drawn over his eyes, and dark blue shoes. The girl, on the other hand, was a blonde, and she wore a lighter combination that seemed to counter the boy’s more subdued appearance—a sleeveless pink sweater over a long-sleeved white shirt and an orange tie, a dark purple skirt decorated with lines and musical notes, and a pair of matching knee-high socks and brown shoes. _Definitely Ultimates_ , Ryoma thought as he and Kirumi drew nearer. He heard the boy mutter in a low voice.

“I-I guess this is it, huh?”

“80-A,” the girl confirmed, folding the brochure. “Looks like we’re the first ones here.”

“Good morning,” said Kirumi as she and Ryoma approached.

The two looked around at them, their reactions giving a hint of how different they seemed; while the boy stepped back a little, the girl gave them a ready smile. “Good morning!” she greeted back cordially. “Are you also looking for 80-A?”

“We were, but it appears you arrived here first,” replied Kirumi. Bowing like she did earlier with Ryoma, she went on, “I am Kirumi Tojo, the Ultimate Maid.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the other boy blurted out, “Ah, I’ve heard of you before!”

“Oh, really?” asked the other girl. “Where from?”

“Some of the people I’ve worked with have mentioned your name before a number of times,” said the boy.

“I take it they also mentioned my services in some way,” said Kirumi.

“Yes,” said the boy. “They said that your work is so perfect, you can complete any request that is given to you.”

The other girl looked around at him in astonishment. “W-What?! She’s _that_ amazing?!”

“Yes, her reputation is well-known among a lot of prominent people. Apparently, she’s been hired before as a bodyguard for several foreign dignitaries and an assistant to some of the most famous personalities in the country today,” the boy went on. “She truly is an Ultimate with incredible intellect and strength.”

Kirumi, however, replied to such claims in a politely humble tone. “Please, you are exaggerating. I will not complete _any_ request that is asked of me. Anything that I know is within my capabilities and moral obligations, I would fulfill. But anything beyond that, I would not attempt to take on. For instance, I once received a request to annihilate a rival nation.”

If Ryoma did not find Kirumi’s apparent talent already impressive before, these tidbits he was hearing about her reputation were starting to pique his opinion. “But it was an impossible task, so I refused,” Kirumi continued. “So you see, I can only take upon tasks and requests that I feel I can accomplish.”

“B-But being requested to do that is already impressive on its own, right?” said the other girl. “Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet someone as well-known and skilled as you. I’m Kaede Akamatsu. I’m the Ultimate Pianist!”

The other boy, meanwhile, bowed his head slightly. “I’m Shuichi Saihara,” he said in a more timid tone. “I’m the Ultimate Detective, I s-suppose. . .”

“Hey! I told you before, you _are_ the Ultimate Detective, okay?” said Kaede, frowning slightly at him. “So cut it out with that ‘suppose’ stuff! You were scouted to be here along with us, after all.”

“Ah, you’re right,” said Shuichi with a nervous smile. “S-Sorry about that.”

As he looked around, his eyes fell upon Ryoma, and a flicker of recognition immediately passed through them. “Wait! Y-You’re Ryoma Hoshi, right?” he asked, surprised.

Expecting nothing less, Ryoma met his glance with indifference. “You sure recognize a lot of people, huh? Well, I guess that’s a given, seeing as how you’re the Ultimate Detective and all. . .”

Shuichi winced at his words, as if Ryoma had hurled an insult at him. “Do you know him as well, Shuichi?” Kaede asked him.

“Not in person,” said Shuichi. “It’s just that . . . I’ve read about him in the papers before.”

Ryoma scoffed, more to himself than to anyone. “So you’ve read that old story too, huh?” he muttered.

With his deep voice doubling the edge of his words, he knew that the statement must have unsettled Shuichi further, for the Ultimate Detective suddenly looked anxious. “Y-Yes,” said Shuichi. “It was kind of a pretty big deal back then in our a-agency. . .”

“Wait, why?” asked Kaede, looking slightly confused. “What was—?”

But at that moment, a cry and a rush of footsteps from around the next corner cut her off. The four of them turned just in time to see a boy rounding the corner, looking rather harried. They would have reacted rather normally at such an arrival were it not for the boy’s bizarre appearance.

The first thing that Ryoma noticed was how odd his clothing was—if it could be even called that. Instead of fabric, he was wearing metal plating on nearly every part of his body, taking the shape of what passed for clothes, with odd glowing buttons here and there. His collar also looked metallic, with flashing green letters blinking on the glossy surface. Beneath all this, Ryoma saw how he had unusually pale skin and round eyes with lines running down under them across his cheeks. Lastly, his hair was white and sharp-looking, with a single sizeable strand sticking out at the crown of his head like an antenna.

Upon catching sight of the four of them, the boy cried out, “Please help me! I’m being chased!”

Kirumi frowned. “Chased? Who’s—?”

However, another boy rounded the corner almost immediately. He was slightly shorter than the first boy was, with long, wavy, blackish purple hair that framed his youthful face but also gave him a rather sinister aura. He was also dressed rather oddly in an all-white uniform, slightly ripped and long-sleeved. Straps hung loose from his pants, and a few metallic clips held parts of the uniform in place, reminding Ryoma of a straitjacket. A black-and-white checkered scarf was draped around the boy’s neck and shoulders. Black and purple slip-on flats and buttons of different colors on his top completed his eccentric look.

Upon spotting them, the boy’s face cracked into a mischievous grin. “Ooh, made friends already, Keeboy?” he said playfully, brushing away a lock of his dark purple hair from his face.

“Please stop! Don’t come any closer!” said the first boy.

“Wait, wait, what’s going on here?” asked Kaede, stepping between the two of them.

“He was chasing me!” said the first boy; as odd as he looked, Ryoma had a hard time believing that his name was “Keeboy” like the second boy was suggesting. “Once I told him who I was, he started harassing me downstairs!”

“May we ask who you are, then?” Kirumi inquired.

At that, the first boy stood up straighter, looking more determined now that there were other students to hopefully shield him from his pursuer. “I am K1-B0, the Ultimate Robot,” he said with a proud air. “But please, address me as Keebo!”

Somehow, “Keeboy” suddenly made sense for Ryoma. Though he should have guessed it from the way Keebo was dressed, he still found it rather surprising that he was actually a robot, let alone the Ultimate Robot. Even Kirumi raised her eyebrows in mild amazement.

“W-What? The Ultimate _Robot_?!” Shuichi cried out.

“Are you, for reals, a robot?” Kaede chimed in, looking astonished.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” the second boy yelled suddenly in a petulant tone, forcing them to look back at him. “You can’t be the only one who gets to show off! I’ll introduce myself, too!”

“And you are . . . ?” asked Kirumi.

The boy spread his arms wide and took a mocking bow. “I’m Kokichi Oma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader.”

A short silence followed his words. “The Ultimate Supreme Leader?” asked Kaede. “H-How does that work?”

Kokichi shrugged. “Oh, I’m just the supreme leader of an evil secret organization, that’s all.”

Ryoma grunted skeptically. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” said Kokichi. “I gotta say, it’s pretty impressive. My organization has over ten thousand members!”

“An evil secret organization?” asked Kirumi. “And a teenaged boy like you is actually its . . . leader?”

“Who knows?” Again, an impish grin crossed Kokichi’s face. “I am a liar, after all.”

“Wait, so were you lying just now?” asked Kaede.

“Well, I am the supreme leader of an evil secret organization,” said Kokichi in reply. “ _That_ part was true.”

“So were you lying or not?” Kaede pressed.

Kokichi giggled. “I’m not telling you,” he said in a singsong voice.

“Just leave him alone,” Keebo interjected, looking resentfully at his pursuer. “Everything he is saying appears to be just a lie. There is no point in having a sensible discussion with him.”

“Huh,” said Kaede, looking as if she was trying to make sense of what Kokichi had just said. “Um . . . so were you . . . were you actually chasing Keebo here?”

“Nah. I was just trying to get him to lead me to our classroom,” said Kokichi, jabbing his thumb at the classroom door. “It was kinda hard trying to find the right door around here, and I was pretty sure that Keeboy here already knew where to go with his x-ray vision and scanners and whatnot, so—”

“I do not have those functions, and you were definitely chasing and harassing me!” Keebo insisted.

“Well, yeah, maybe I lied about you leading me here.” Kokichi said matter-of-factly, and Ryoma had to marvel at how casually he could change on a dime. “I was chasing you because I’ve always wanted to be friends with a robot! Though I learned the hard way before that a robot’s breath smells like gasoline. How about yours, Keeboy?”

“My breath does not smell like gasoline!” Keebo exclaimed. “I am powered by electricity!”

Kokichi let out a playful laugh. “I’m just kidding, of course!”

Keebo frowned. “You’re not funny.”

Ignoring the robot’s frustration, Kokichi turned to the others. “So . . . 80-A classmates, hmm? Now all we need is a class mascot to represent us! What do you say, Keeboy?”

“Are you implying that I should be a mascot just because I am a robot?” Keebo glared at him. “I will not tolerate such robophobic remarks!”

Shuichi looked confused. “R-Robophobic?”

“Yes!” the Ultimate Robot exclaimed, rounding on Shuichi and the rest of them. “I’ll have you know that I have a built-in recording function, so if anyone makes any robophobic remarks in my presence, I will see them in court!”

“Or maybe you can, y’know, just smash them in the face with a rocket punch,” Kokichi suggested.

“I do not have that kind of function!” said Keebo.

“Aww, man. You’re boring,” said Kokichi, yawning.

Ryoma watched everything unfold in front of him in silence. A robot student preaching about “robophobia” and a childish supreme leader were unusual enough, and yet he could tell that it was only bound to get even weirder from here.

* * *

As the morning wore on, more of their supposed classmates arrived, and Ryoma bore witness to eccentricities even more uncanny than that of Kokichi’s and Keebo’s. Miu Iruma, the Ultimate Inventor, was equal parts obnoxious, perverted and standoffish, choosing to socialize by hurling insults on a whim before badgering a shy and anxious Keebo about his mechanical composition in a highly suggestive way. Tenko Chabashira, the determined and intense Ultimate Aikido Master, bonded confidently with the girls while threatening to use her “Neo-Aikido” to throw the boys clear across the room if they approached her or any of the girls the wrong way. And there was redheaded Himiko Yumeno, who looked rather young and even odder for an Ultimate with her small frame and her uniform, which included an actual witch hat and pointed brown boots; she initially proclaimed that she was the Ultimate Mage and explained that she used real magic to entertain crowds, though she begrudgingly acknowledged after a few questions and clarifications that she was, in fact, the Ultimate Magician on paper.

The more Ryoma observed, the more he saw which of his classmates made him feel rather wary. Angie Yonaga had been too cheerful and carefree for his liking at first, and he only became more cautious of her when she started preaching fervently to all of them about joining her in the worship of Atua, the deity of her island home and the apparent source of her divine inspiration for her works as the Ultimate Artist. Kaito Momota, meanwhile, was loud and filled with an energetic brashness, and he was also one of the few others who recognized Ryoma as a renowned tennis player; Ryoma soon made it a point to steer clear of the Ultimate Astronaut as soon as he started asking him about his tennis-playing days. Still, that was not to say that the quieter ones in class did not make him feel mistrustful as well. Korekiyo Shinguji, the Ultimate Anthropologist, possessed a rather sinister aura that seemed amplified by his tall, almost effeminate figure and the black face mask he wore along with his peculiar military-like uniform; and there was Maki Harukawa, the Ultimate Child Caregiver, silent, aloof and unassuming in her red and black attire but possessing an aura of intensity that raised Ryoma’s hackles somehow.

Amidst all the jive that was starting to form from such an amalgamation of unique talents and uncanny quirks, the most memorable entrance by far belonged to Gonta Gokuhara, whose towering, muscled frame and wild mane of greenish brown hair caught everyone off guard as he marched into their room all of a sudden; Gonta was quick to surprise them further, however, when he spoke in a polite—if broken—manner and introduced himself as both the Ultimate Entomologist and a person who wanted to become a “true gentleman.” Following right behind him, almost sneaking in unnoticed in the commotion, was a blue-haired, bespectacled girl who introduced herself as Tsumugi Shirogane; Ryoma noticed how her seemingly ordinary black school uniform seemed to bely the fact that she was the Ultimate Cosplayer, and Tsumugi herself was quick to tell everyone just how plain she was in a lot of ways. The last student to arrive was Rantaro Amami, the handsome, stylish and laid-back Ultimate Adventurer who seemed the most normal out of all of them in most aspects, though Ryoma sensed that there was always more to such people than meets the eye.

Once the class was complete, as if on cue, one of the faculty members showed up to tell them what they would be doing; apart from some occasional classes with various teachers, the Ultimates were free to make use of their time to establish ties with their schoolmates and classmates, and to hone their talents in the process. Ryoma did not relish the thought of training his talent, but he welcomed the idea that he was not required to sit in a classroom all day. It had been years since he had attended school, and the thought felt incredibly alien to him now.

In spite of his thoughts about the school and the eccentricities that every student seemed to have, however, it did not take long before Ryoma began envying his schoolmates in silence. All the students of Hope’s Peak would cultivate not only improvements and perfections as they honed their talents, but also the hope that the nation saw as the presage to a brighter future. After graduation, they would move on to greener pastures filled with opportunities so that they can utilize their talents for the good of the nation and even the world, paving the way for subsequent batches of Ultimates to follow in their footsteps.

For Ryoma, on the other hand, only prison awaited after graduation. Again, he looked at the students around him, knowing that none of them threw their future away, knowing how all of them had something to live for.

Burdened by melancholy, Ryoma opted to skip lunch as everyone else made their way downstairs for lunchtime later that day. Watching students filing into the dining area to eat did not seem too different from shuffling in line with inmates as daily rations were doled out in a prison cafeteria. Unwilling to dwell on this thought and worsen his mood, he walked quietly outside to one of the school’s courtyards, sitting atop a stone bench there and eating his candy cigarette in silence. As time passed, he saw a few more students passing by, having just finished eating lunch and making their way back to wherever they needed to go. Their presence did little to ease the emptiness that he was feeling.

A set of footsteps behind him made him look around. Keebo was there, glancing curiously around at whatever sights there were in the vicinity. He stopped when he spotted Ryoma.

“Hello there,” he said with a smile. His eyes gleamed slightly, and Ryoma wondered just what kind of mechanisms were lighting them up. “Have you finished eating?”

“Wasn’t in the mood to eat,” Ryoma told him. “How about you?”

Keebo looked away rather hesitantly. Only then did Ryoma remember that he was speaking to a robot.

“. . . How exactly do you eat?” he asked him.

Keebo stood up straighter, a somber look crossing his pale face; Ryoma had to marvel at how he was able to convey emotions rather well for a robot. “I’m afraid I cannot eat,” Keebo replied quietly. “I don’t have any functions that would help me consume any kind of food. I wanted to linger in the dining hall for a while, but I didn’t feel comfortable looking at all that food and not being able to eat even a little of it.”

“Is that so?” said Ryoma. “So you don’t . . . you know, starve or anything?”

“No. I only feel weakened when I’m running low on electricity,” said Keebo. “My creator, Professor Motohiro Idabashi, has not yet figured out a viable function that would help me recharge without sitting for three hours next to a power source. But I’m hopeful that he will figure something out soon. He is always looking for ways to improve my overall functionality and efficiency. Who knows? Maybe one day, I would be able to eat and drink as well!”

“I see. Well, maybe Miu can help you with some of your other functions while you’re here,” Ryoma stated. “She’s a crude girl, but she seems to know her stuff.”

At that, Keebo fidgeted where he stood; Ryoma could tell that he would be blushing if he was an ordinary human being. “Yes, M-Miu does know a lot when it comes to machines and technology,” said Keebo. “She is the Ultimate Inventor, after all. . . Although when she told me earlier about installing a number of certain functions in me, I cannot help but feel hesitant about them.”

Ryoma grunted at that. As far as first impressions go, Miu was as vulgar as she was foulmouthed, and if her adoration of Keebo earlier in their classroom was any indication, he already had an idea about the kind of functions she would like the Ultimate Robot to have.

“So how exactly are you going to shape your talent?” Ryoma inquired. “I mean, it sounds a bit different from the other ones I’ve heard. No offense. . .”

“None taken. And yes, it does seem a bit out of place, I’ll admit,” said Keebo, who seemed pleased at the idea that someone was asking him questions about his talent, “but I plan to improve by learning more and more about a great many things and improving my functions in the meantime. I would learn more about myself as a robot while also growing in the same way that a normal human being would until I am capable of thinking and acting in the same way any human being does. That way, I would be able to prove to the world that robots and humans are not so different after all, and it would even help robophobes reconsider their current mindset.”

Even with the way the Ultimate Robot spoke, Ryoma could not help but be cynical. The world can be an unforgiving place, as he had learned regrettably in the past, and someone who was still innocent about it all like Keebo was bound to be treated to the rudest of awakenings in the harsh reality of things sooner or later. Still, he could not bring himself to say so—Keebo sounded so confident and determined that it would be unkind to ruin that for him right now.

“Then I hope you’ll be able to fulfill that purpose,” he told the Ultimate Robot.

Keebo inclined his head. “Thank you. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I was looking to spend lunchtime inside the school library. Hopefully, I won't be bothered by Kokichi there. We shall talk again soon, hopefully.”

“Sure, go on ahead,” said Ryoma. “You don’t have to be so polite about it, y’know?”

As Keebo smiled and walked down the corridor, Ryoma watched him go in silence, wondering if he should be jealous that even a robot had something to live for and look forward to whereas he did not.

* * *

The first day of classes—if any classes were actually held at all—ended at around five in the afternoon. Bells rang, students filed out of their rooms at random, and the new Ultimates were instructed to proceed to the school’s dormitory quarter south of the school to familiarize themselves with their lodgings. Given that there seemed to be more Reserve Course students than there were Ultimates, the dormitories for the Ultimates were less in number compared to those in the Reserve Course quarter. Still, the accommodations were impressive; though the dorm rooms had ordinary facilities like a bathroom, some furniture and a few dressers, the fact that there was one room for each Ultimate student in the academy was remarkable enough. Moreover, there were other feasible locations nearby for additional services, such as a bookstore and a convenience store, reducing the need for students to leave the school to buy what they needed.

Ryoma, who had been expecting to share a room with one or even two of his schoolmates, felt relieved when he found out that each Ultimate would have his or her own room. What he did not count on, however, was the fact that the school seems to have taken the steps necessary to make sure that each Ultimate’s room had additional items and amenities that would cater to their talents. In his case, as he entered his room, he saw that there were extra things laid out for him to use—wristbands, some clean tennis shirts and shorts, a few overgrips and even a tennis bag with rackets in it.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes, annoyed. It was one thing to be scouted and recognized as the Ultimate Tennis Pro when he no longer wanted anything to do with tennis, but for him to be reminded of his past by these things was too much for him to handle. Closing the door behind him, he dropped his duffel bag and strode over to his bed. He gathered up the clothes, wristbands and overgrips, walked over to one of the two dressers that he had, and stashed them haphazardly there before slamming the drawers shut. As for the tennis bag, he picked it up and tossed it at the farthest corner of the room that he could see. Only then did he begin to calm down and start stowing away his personal effects in the other dresser.

Hunger soon began creeping in by the time evening arrived. Ryoma got up and made his way to the nearby convenience store to buy food, knowing that staying hungry for the rest of the day would not help his mood. Some Ultimates were still out and about, observing the various shops with excitement and conversing with one another excitedly about what tomorrow would bring. Luckily, no one seemed to pay him any heed when he bought some snacks, and he managed to return to his dorm room without being bothered.

Outside his room’s window, Hope’s Peak Academy shone like a true beacon of glory, its multitude of lights gleaming amidst the evening’s darkness. Nighttime was doing little to convince students to stay indoors, and indeed some of them had chosen this time to explore the plaza and the courtyards and any other pretty sight there was—and there were a lot of them. The corners of Ryoma’s mouth crinkled into the tiniest of smiles as he ate and observed the view. In spite of his misgivings about being enrolled as a student here, there was no doubt that the place was beautiful.

But his thoughts soon gave way to unwanted memories, and for a brief moment, Ryoma remembered only blood and pain, briefly ruining the taste of the food in his mouth. He shook his head and carried on eating in silence, his melancholy slowly chasing away that short-lived moment of comfort. The fact that this odd school was causing him to remember things that he should have forgotten a long time ago was starting to take its toll on his patience.

_Three years, Hoshi. Three years. That should be simple practice to prepare you for a lifetime in prison._


	2. Familiarization

For Kirumi, maid duty was the norm.

Hope’s Peak Academy tasked its Ultimate students to hone their talents, and she aimed to do so as diligently and as consistently as she could. It was never a dull routine, all things considered—not only did she get to improve her talents as the Ultimate Maid further, but she also got to acquaint herself rather well with the schoolmates that she served. Granted, some of them were rather demanding, though Kirumi could not blame them; not all of them had the time to bounce between participating in academic matters, shaping their talents and taking care of any personal chores. And so, all throughout the first week of classes, there was no shortage of tasks for Kirumi to lend her talents to, and no moment where she did not feel some measure of pride for it all.

She got up from her bed, stretching her arms gracefully. Even in the darkness, she knew where her things were; she had taken time to clean up everything and sort out what needing sorting before she went to sleep every night, to the point where she had practically memorized everything in her room by now. After she had finished smoothing out her bed’s covers and rearranging her pillows, she took out some fresh exercise clothes and a towel from the nearby closet and made the necessary preparations for her morning routine.

Fifteen minutes later, as she stepped outside the dormitories, Kirumi breathed deeply as the pre-dawn chill bit into her. Dressed in a long-sleeved running shirt and a modest pair of black jogging shorts, she still felt odd in some ways. Perhaps it was the fact that she had grown used to wearing her maid uniform for so long that she felt rather out of place when wearing casual clothing. But of course, it would not do for her to exercise in her uniform, nor would it be practical to skip her workouts just because she did not feel too comfortable in casual wear, so here she was. Quietly, she made her way to the front of the school.

As she drew nearer to the fountain in the main courtyard which often served as her starting point, she saw a familiar figure already standing there—Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the Ultimate Moral Compass.

“Good morning, Taka,” she said as she walked closer.

Kiyotaka looked around; his intense, red-pupiled eyes shone with both recognition and cordiality as he spotted her. Like her, he was wearing some jogging attire.

“Ah, good morning, Kirumi!” he said in that loud, resolute tone that he often spoke in. “Early again, as usual!”

Kirumi smiled back. The first time she had met Kiyotaka, he had questioned her about wearing a maid uniform instead of the Ultimates’ brown uniforms. She found out later on that he was a member of the school’s morals committee—its most fervent member, truth be told—and that he was often roaming the halls in between classes, enforcing the school’s rules to the letter by reprimanding students who were not wearing their proper uniforms or those who seemed to be skipping their classes for the sake of leisure. Soon, his all-white uniform and loud voice became a common occurrence for those who wandered the corridors. Though some might have seen him as forceful and even rather sanctimonious when it came to such things, Kirumi found him to be a highly respectable individual; she had met very few people who strove to uphold their principles and standards in their line of duty the way Kiyotaka did.

“Another fine morning for a jog, don’t you think?” said Kiyotaka with a proud air as he flexed his arms. “And it is good to see that I am not the only one around here who values the benefits of daily exercise to one’s work ethic. After all, a healthy body and a healthy mind go hand in hand!”

“I agree with your sentiments,” Kirumi stated. “Perhaps if we set an example for others, we can help them realize such simple but meaningful philosophies in a better light.”

Kiyotaka laughed. “Well said! I’ve always repeated that we Ultimates have a duty to serve as role models for the good of society. I will always do my best to stay true to that course!”

“I would expect nothing less from the Ultimate Moral Compass,” said Kirumi amiably. “It is my duty to help someone like you. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to make a request of me.”

Kiyotaka stood up ruler-straight, as if he was a soldier being addressed by a commanding officer. His chest swelled with pride. “I appreciate your words, Kirumi! Your help is worth that of a hundred people, and I’m sure many of the talented Ultimates here can vouch for that!”

“I am merely fulfilling my duties as a maid,” Kirumi stated, bowing her head modestly. “But still, I thank you for your kind words as well.”

Again, Kiyotaka smiled. “It is an honor and an inspiration to have a person like you in this academy. Now then, as much as I would like to stay here for a while and talk to you, I must get on with my jog before the sun rises. We shall talk later!”

“Ah, of course,” said Kirumi. “I should be preparing as well for my own exercises. Do take care, Taka.”

As Kiyotaka jogged off, Kirumi set about stretching and warming up before she followed in his general direction. All around her, birds chirped quietly in the trees around the academy, their trills resonating alongside the calm rush of water in the fountain near her. Without its multitude of students walking around just yet, Hope’s Peak Academy seemed like a whole new place in the quiet hours before dawn. Still, what made it even more beautiful and meaningful were the people that worked and studied hard in it for a better future, and she was more than honored to be considered a part of it all.

By the time Kirumi was done jogging, she had finished six laps around the school. Kiyotaka was nowhere to be seen—Kirumi knew that he liked to jog a lot farther and longer—though there were more people starting to come out; groundskeepers who were finishing their early morning duties across the school grounds, and students who got up to exercise once the sun had started to shine its rays against the pre-dawn darkness. Even so, the cold morning air still lingered, casting a chilly bite on Kirumi’s face as her sweat dried up. Knowing that the school would officially start opening up in the next hour, she made her way back to the fountain and did some last exercise routines before going back to the dorms to shower and change.

The dining hall was still relatively empty when Kirumi arrived later on for breakfast, though the smell of food was already wafting in the air from the nearby kitchens. Only a handful of students were present, and most of them still bore the makings of sleepiness in their eyes and dispositions. No one spoke much, so the sound of people’s footsteps and some occasional whispers sounded louder than usual within the hall’s spacious confines.

Breakfast for Kirumi came in the form of broiled salmon, fluffy brown rice and some hearty miso soup. There were more delectable choices available for those who wanted them, such as scrambled eggs, ham and hotcakes, but Kirumi always preferred to eat light and healthy. Sometimes, she did indulge outside of her diet’s limitations—some sweets during the evening, or an extra helping of a favorite meal at lunchtime—but she never went too far beyond what her standards dictated. Such were the things that were part of one’s personal code, after all.

Kirumi was just about to order some food when she spotted another familiar sight: the pointed ears of a black beanie, dwarfed by nearly everything else around it. This came as a bit of a surprise; in the week that he had spent with Kirumi and everyone else, Ryoma Hoshi never showed up much in the dining hall, let alone to eat a meal there with everyone else or at such an early time. And yet here he was, standing close to the counters where food was being served to the students, perusing which fare to choose for his breakfast as he chewed idly on another one of those candy cigarettes he always had. He was still wearing his usual prison garb topped with a leather jacket, adding to his odd appearance amid all the other students who were in their uniforms.

Kirumi went up to him; her footsteps made Ryoma turn around. He narrowed his eyes almost resignedly as he saw her, almost as if he was anticipating running into her or anyone else.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Good morning, Ryoma,” Kirumi greeted back. “I didn’t count on seeing you here.”

Ryoma grunted. “Woke up too early. Couldn’t go back to sleep, so I went out for a little morning stroll. I saw you jogging around the school earlier while I was out.”

“Did you run into Taka as well?” asked Kirumi.

“No. Good thing too, I guess,” Ryoma replied, chuckling silently. “He would’ve told me off again if he saw me in these clothes.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Kirumi, smiling along with him. “But I guess he would let it slide since classes technically have not started yet. Are you going to eat breakfast?”

Ryoma glanced at the dining hall’s counters again. “Maybe. This place reminds me too much of our cafeteria back at prison, but I also don’t want to get used to eating only convenience store food for three years. I guess it was just a matter of time before I tried out the food here.”

“I see. If you’re not comfortable here, would you like me to prepare some food for you to eat at your room instead?” asked Kirumi dutifully.

“No, it’s okay,” said Ryoma. “You’re here to eat too, right? You shouldn’t let me interrupt you or anything. Go ahead and do what you want. I’ll be fine.”

“Then in that case, may I keep you company while we both eat?” Kirumi offered.

Ryoma turned around to look at her. “Why?”

“Food is often enjoyed best with company,” said Kirumi. “Of course, I do not speak for those who prefer to eat alone, but I appreciate the presence of other people during mealtimes. Let’s just say that . . . it is something I do not experience all the time.”

Staring at her for a few seconds, Ryoma looked both hesitant and curious. “Because of your job—I mean, your talent, right?”

Kirumi inclined her head in response. “Most of the time, I wait for everyone to finish eating before I eat. To be honest, I do not mind—I’ve grown used to it, after all. But it does feel better if there are others around to share my mealtimes with, and the people in this academy make for some wonderful company indeed.”

Ryoma looked away, nibbling on his candy cigarette. “Well, it’d be uncool of me to refuse after you said that. . . But I gotta warn you—I don’t talk that much, so it’s gonna be a pretty quiet breakfast for both of us.”

Kirumi smiled. “I would be honored either way.”

True to what he had said, Ryoma did not speak much on his own as the two of them ate. Kirumi asked an occasional question about their upcoming class activities and the future events the school had in store, and while Ryoma replied to her queries, he did so with brief words, saying nothing more, nothing less. This came as no surprise to her; in class, Ryoma rarely spoke to anyone, and not even Miu’s crass insults about his height, Tenko’s fiery threats regarding his gender, Kaito’s constant pestering about his sports days or Kaede’s encouraging words for his melancholy could rouse him from his silence. Most of the class treated him with the same level of respect and cordiality that they would show each other, but mostly everyone agreed to simply let him be once they saw just how coolly reserved he was.

Still, Kirumi could not help but be interested in a lot of things regarding Ryoma—his career as a tennis prodigy, the tragedy that led to his fall from grace, and his time in prison. Such were things that she had heard alongside the rest of the world, whether from word of mouth or through the news, but her curiosity was not an intrusive type, the kind that fueled gossip and put the rumor mill to hard work.

Privately, Kirumi somehow felt compelled to _help_ him.

When a short silence fell between them, Ryoma regarded her with resignation in his eyes. “I told you, it was a bad idea to spend time with me. You must be getting uncomfortable by now.”

Kirumi matched his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I know you want to ask me some stuff, but you’re thinking twice because I don’t look like the kind of guy who’d like that.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can see it in your eyes.” Ryoma set his chopsticks down as he leaned back against his chair. “You’re the last person I would mistake for a busybody, but I can tell that you’re curious nonetheless.”

Kirumi regarded him meaningfully for a moment. “You’re very observant if you are able to deduce such a notion simply by looking at me.”

“Well, that’s one of the things that you learn when you play—”

At that moment, Ryoma stopped just short of finishing his sentence. Noticing this, Kirumi looked at him again; there was a reflective look on his face, as if he suddenly remembered something and was mulling on it in silence.

However, the look was gone before Kirumi could even say anything, and Ryoma continued rather somberly, “It’s just one of the things I learned along the way.”

“I see.” Kirumi let her gaze linger upon him for a moment, musing if she had guessed correctly about what he might have tried to say.

By the time the two of them had finished eating, more familiar faces showed up to eat in the cafeteria; Kaede showed up with Shuichi, whose nervous air belied the sleepiness that still lingered on his eyes. They joined the two of them, and their table soon lit up with some livelier talk. However, Kirumi also noticed that Ryoma seemed to recede in silence, only replying when a question was directed his way.

By the time more of their classmates showed up—with Kaito, Korekiyo and Rantaro following not long after Kaede and Shuichi—Kirumi had finished eating. As part of her daily routine, she stood by readily after she had deposited her breakfast tray, waiting for any student to make a request of her with their own desired breakfasts or with some other task later on in the day. Meanwhile, Ryoma had finished alongside her, although he opted to go back to the dormitories with nary a word to anyone. Kirumi watched him go, his small figure soon being drowned out by the ever-growing number of students walking into the cafeteria.

* * *

By noontime that day, Kirumi had managed to complete no less than forty-two requests from various students. Granted, it was not necessary to count them all, but she always found herself tallying them in her mind one by one, not unlike the way she counted the clothes she folded or the books she stacked on shelves or whatnot. In between, there was also the occasional odd task that she needed to fulfill for various Ultimates, and these were usually the duties that stood out the most. In their own class, Korekiyo Shinguji would occasionally ask for her assistance as he tallied down his previous field researches in various rural provinces across Japan, as per his talent as the Ultimate Anthropologist; Class 77-B’s Teruteru Hanamura, the Ultimate Cook, would approach her outside of class and inquire about new recipes and ingredients that he would be experimenting on for future lunches, often with a suggestive remark—politely ignored on Kirumi’s end—in between his queries; and Class 78’s Ultimate Fanfic Creator, Hifumi Yamada, liked asking for her thoughts regarding his plans for his latest work featuring his favorite anime character, Princess Piggles, even if he was the one who did most of the talking.

Once the school bell rang for lunch, Kirumi made her way to the kitchens, helping the cooks and serving meals to those who did not want to fall in line for their food. In spite of the pickiness and even the occasional arrogance that some students displayed while expecting her services, most of them were gracious enough to voice their thanks. Kirumi did not mind one bit; she had dealt with more arrogant people before in her years of service, and she knew that replying with subservient courtesy colored with a touch of self-respect was the right way to deal with such conceit. And so, she served them all without complaint or comment, only speaking to ask if they required anything else, or if the service and the food were to their liking. Soon, even the most demanding began to mellow their approach towards her, seeing as how she held herself up with both dignity and an unabashed devotion to her duty.

Soon, she spotted a small group of her classmates converging upon a table to eat—Kaede and Shuichi, never failing to show up together; Miu Iruma, with her black straps and pink sailor uniform standing out garishly above the brown uniforms of the other Ultimates; Himiko Yumeno, whose black witch’s hat and pointed brown boots were drawing stares from other students; and Tenko Chabashira, her twin pigtails swinging behind her as she hurried after Himiko. Kirumi went towards them, ready to serve them like she had been doing for the past half-hour. Kaede stood up when she saw her approaching, waving with a smile on her face.

“Come join us, Kirumi!” she called out. “We were just about to eat. The others will be coming in as well.”

“Yes, come eat with us, Kirumi!” said Tenko. “If any of these degenerate males take up too much space, I’ll kick them out!”

“H-Hey, there’s no need for that,” said Shuichi, his hat pulled a little low over his eyes.

Kirumi bowed with a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, but I will be eating later instead, as always. I just wanted to ask if any of you needed any specific kind of food from the kitchens. I would be glad to procure some for you.”

“Again? Are you sure? I mean, you do this every day and all. . .” said Kaede.

“Of course. It is always my duty to serve,” Kirumi replied.

“Hmm. . . I think I’ll take a look at the food they’re serving from the kitchens before I ask for anything,” Kaede proffered. “That way, you won’t be too swamped with everyone’s orders just yet, Kirumi.”

“I think that’s a good idea, though some of that English tea you prepared earlier for breakfast wouldn’t hurt, Kirumi,” said Shuichi with a smile.

“Very well, I shall prepare some more for you,” said Kirumi.

Just then, Miu’s loud and snarky voice carried over them. “So you’re still our ‘maid-to-order,’ then?” the Ultimate Inventor commented towards Kirumi, laughing as she sat down on a chair and placed her legs atop the table as casually as one would do on a footstool. “Apart from cooking and cleaning, what other services do you have for all these virgin plebs? I mean, your outfit’s bound to give some of them more than a few _nasty_ ideas!”

“Geez, there’s no need to say stuff like that, Miu,” said Kaede in an admonishing tone. “And get your legs off the table!”

“And there goes Miss Sour Tits again,” Miu grumbled, though she grudgingly lowered her legs back down to the floor nonetheless. She turned back to Kirumi and said, “Anyway, since you’re asking, I think I want some more of that custard taiyaki they had yesterday. Do you think there’s some more at the kitchens, skivvy?”

“I’ll see if there are,” said Kirumi, ignoring Miu’s obnoxious term. “Will there be anything else?”

“Yeah, make sure there’s _lots_ of custard in them, alright? Nothing like biting down into something big and seeing oodles and _oodles_ of thick, creamy goodness just oozing out!” said Miu, hooting.

“Doesn’t a trashy skank like you have anything better to do than spoil everyone’s lunch with your pervy thoughts?” rang the snide voice of Kokichi Oma, who had just arrived at their table. “I mean, it’s hard enough to endure seeing your ugly vulgar face every day in class. . .”

Miu recoiled at that, her hands trembling as she glared at Kokichi. “Hey, you plebs should be g-grateful that you even get to be in the same room as a gorgeous girl genius like m-me!” she cried out. “And stop acting like it’s easy to be around a shota pipsqueak like you!”

“Please, no quarreling, especially here in the cafeteria,” Kirumi interjected firmly.

“Oops. I’m sowwy about that, Mommy,” said Kokichi, looking at her with a childishly contrite look.

Kirumi stood up straighter. It had not taken long for Kokichi to christen her with such a nickname after their first week together, and she found the term rather insulting. “Please do not call me that,” she remarked stiffly. “I am a high school student like the rest of you. Again, if you have any requests about your food, just inform me and I will be on my way.”

“I’ll think about it. You’ve been surprising us all with your cooking for the past week, though, so anything you cook ought to be good, Mommy.” Kokichi snickered playfully, while Kirumi sighed with mild annoyance.

Himiko’s eyelids looked droopy as she sat down. “Nyeeh. . . It’s such a pain coming all the way here to eat,” she said, not unlike a young child who resented being asked to tag along into a gathering of adults. “Do you mind if you just deliver food to my dorm starting tomorrow, Kirumi?”

“If that is what you wish,” said Kirumi dutifully.

“I can also deliver your food for you if you’d like, Himiko!” said Tenko quickly, looking excited as she took the seat next to Himiko. “We can eat together, play together a-and maybe even sleep together!”

Kaede looked up with a start. “I don’t think that came out the way you meant it to, Tenko,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please. Of course it did,” said Miu. “As if Miss Andry hasn’t shown enough of that kinda dirty talk with lil’ Donkey Lips before.”

Himiko shot her a bothered look. “If my MP wasn’t already low, I would turn people like you and Tenko into frogs.”

“Eh?! E-Even me, Himiko?!” said Tenko, who looked rather dismayed. “I just want to s-spend a lot more time with you! If we got to know each other better, I will make sure you’ll feel happy and safe in my company!”

“I prefer being alone,” said Himiko. “It helps me practice my magic better.”

“Alright, I think we should just s-settle down and think of what to eat, guys,” Shuichi cut in rather nervously.

“’What to eat,’ huh, Pooichi? You say that but you’re just thinking of eating out flat-chested Bakamatsu over there, aren’t ya?” said Miu, laughing as she nodded towards Kaede.

“I knew it! You degenerate males are always filled with dirty, perverted thoughts!” Tenko hissed as she glared at Shuichi, who like Kaede had turned red with both embarrassment and indignation. “Try anything, and my Neo-Aikido will break your limbs like twigs!”

“Ah! I-It’s not like that!” Shuichi cried out.

“God, Miu!” exclaimed Kaede, wrapping her arms around herself as if in defense of Miu’s crass comment about her build. “Some things are just best left unsaid!”

“H-Hey, I just wanna have some fun, okay?!” Miu shot back, her obnoxious air dropping as she looked frightened for a moment. “Geez, some people j-just can’t take a joke. . .”

Kirumi permitted herself another sigh—this time of silent amusement—as the banter raged before her, from Tenko’s threats towards Shuichi to Kaede scolding Miu to Kokichi laughing as he egged them on, all while Himiko sat muttering what sounded like incantations under her breath. As always, the Ultimates of Hope’s Peak were proving to be quite the colorful bunch, engaging and awe-inspiring as they were like Kiyotaka had mentioned earlier in spite of all their teenage insecurities, outstanding quirks and raging hormones. The arrival of the rest of them—even Keebo who could not eat but was starting to enjoy everyone else’s company—made things even more enjoyable to witness, even from the sidelines.

However, even with all this, they were still one person short, and Kirumi found her concern rising again as she dwelt on the fact. Inwardly, she decided to start doing something about it.

* * *

Carrying the tray of food before her carefully, Kirumi walked through the corridors in silence. Technically, she was free to eat for herself now that she had tended to those who needed her services for lunchtime, but her initiative of bringing food to Ryoma’s room was more important to her at the moment than the prospect of eating her own lunch. Admittedly, having no idea what kind of food Ryoma actually preferred, Kirumi pondered if the meal would be to his liking—a bowl of piping hot miso ramen with cuts of braised pork, sheets of nori, sliced leeks and an egg, with a pot of green tea to go with it.

Because lunchtime had not ended yet, there were very few people around the dormitories. Sunlight seeped through the windows, bathing the floor in a soft glow. Her shoes clicking and tapping as she walked, Kirumi hastened her pace, not wanting to let the ramen grow too cold before Ryoma could eat. Then again, she had no idea if Ryoma was even in his dorm room at the moment, meaning he could be anywhere in the school. Nonetheless, Kirumi kept walking dutifully, intending to push through with her initiative regardless.

Like all the rooms of the Ultimates, Ryoma’s door was marked with a placard that displayed his surname and initials, as well as a smaller line beneath that showed what his Ultimate talent was. Kirumi eyed the placard for a moment before knocking, carefully balancing the tray of ramen and tea on her other hand. At first, only silence registered in the wake of her knocking. Undeterred, Kirumi knocked again.

This time, the door opened a few inches. Ryoma’s round, melancholic eyes seemed to glow amid the darkness in his room.

“Yeah?” he muttered, his eyebrows flying up in surprise as he saw that it was her. His pointy-eared beanie was gone, revealing a cropped patch of short, bristly, pale red hair. It was the first time that Kirumi had seen him like this, having only known Ryoma from his past through newspaper articles and mugshots on television, and it surprised her slightly as well.

“What do you want?” Ryoma asked quietly.

Kirumi gestured towards the tray. “I figured you’d be hungry, so I prepared some ramen and green tea for you. Forgive me, though. I had no idea what food you would like, so I took the liberty of choosing for you.”

Brow furrowed, Ryoma let out a sigh. “Well, I _am_ hungry,” he admitted, “but I’m not the type to order food from the cafeteria, let alone having it delivered here. You didn’t have to go and do all that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” said Kirumi. “Consider it a compliment of sorts.”

Ryoma stared deep into her eyes. Kirumi wondered if he was sizing her up again in the same way he did at breakfast earlier, and she found herself doing the same in return as she saw a myriad of emotions beneath his gaze—conflict, resignation, and even a hint of regret.

“Alright,” Ryoma said at last. When he opened the door fully, Kirumi saw that his jacket was also gone, revealing the striped prison uniform he wore beneath it.

“Come in,” he muttered, stepping aside to let her pass.

As she stepped inside his dorm room, this being the first time she had done so, Kirumi was met by a somber darkness due to the curtains being drawn on the nearby windows. And unlike the rooms of other Ultimates that she had seen, Ryoma’s room was devoid of anything related to his talent, or even any decorative piece that would help lighten the dreary atmosphere. In spite of this, though, she noticed how Ryoma seemed to maintain cleanliness in the same way she did in her own room; there was no litter around, nor a wayward article of clothing lying on the floor, which were common sights in the rooms of some Ultimates that she had helped clean in the past week. Kirumi also could not help but notice that Ryoma’s bed was missing its mattress—only his pillows and blanket were sitting on top of the bed’s bare frame, arranged as neatly as everything else. The missing mattress stood behind the bed itself, stripped of its cover and propped against the wall.

She heard Ryoma grunt behind her. “It was too soft, at least compared to what I’ve gotten used to,” he said. Kirumi looked around and saw that he was staring at the bed as well.

“Oh. I see. . .” Kirumi nodded to herself, feeling some sympathy well up in her. Ryoma, on the other hand, sat down on the bed and stretched his arms.

“So . . . are you gonna wait for the tray?” he asked, looking up at her. “It might be too much of a bother for you, and people might get funny ideas if they saw you come in here and staying for too long.”

“I do not mind,” Kirumi replied. “I have waited on a lot of our schoolmates before. Staying and waiting is merely a part of my responsibilities. If you want me to leave and just return for the tray later, however, I would also be glad to oblige.”

Ryoma shook his head. “That sounds like even more of a bother for you, to be honest.” He let out a small sigh. “Alright. If it’s not too much of a problem, you can stay.”

At that, he stood up and walked over to one of the two dressers in the room, the chains from his manacled ankle clinking with every other step. He opened the bottommost drawer and took out a small aluminum cup, placing it next to the ceramic one that Kirumi had brought along for his tea.

“Do you wanna share?” Ryoma asked as he closed the drawer. “I mean, I don’t know if I can drink all this tea by myself, to be honest.”

Kirumi gazed upon him, her eyebrows raised in polite surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” said Ryoma, sitting down at a chair next to the table. He shifted where he sat, as if he was painfully conscious of the awkwardness of his request, though Kirumi did not mind in the slightest. “I mean, it’d be a waste if I don’t drink it all, and I figured that sharing it with you is better than . . . than having you just stand there waiting.”

“If that is what you want,” said Kirumi.

“Only if you’re also okay with it,” Ryoma proffered in return. “I mean, I know people request things from you all the time and it’s part of your duties, but . . . well, I think this is more of an invitation. From one classmate to another.”

Kirumi regarded him with fresh eyes for a moment. In truth, there were very few Ultimates who remembered that she was also a schoolmate in spite of her maid duties. Somehow, she expected Ryoma to be one of them, though she could not say when she had come to such a conclusion. All she knew was that, in spite of his obvious discomfiture at being waited on like this, Ryoma was sincere in his words.

“Yes,” she stated at last with a small smile, “I would like that.”

It was mostly a repeat of how their meal earlier in the morning had gone, but Kirumi found it even more profound this time around as she sat across the Ultimate Tennis Pro, taking small sips of green tea from the ceramic cup she had brought. Ryoma had chosen to use his aluminum cup instead for his own batch of tea, its scratches and dents telling Kirumi that it was a timeworn chalice from prison that he had undoubtedly brought along. All around them, the relative darkness lent its hand in creating a melancholic atmosphere that seemed to go along with Ryoma’s serious air.

“If you do not mind me asking, Ryoma,” said Kirumi after a few minutes of silence, “have you ever considered dining with the rest of our class during mealtimes?”

As he slowly chewed through a mouthful of noodles, Ryoma looked pensive. “Not really. I don’t think anyone’s looking for me there.”

“Quite the contrary. Kaede has asked me a few times if you were okay. She and Shuichi seem to be harboring a desire to speak to you on one of these days.”

“What about? There’s nothing to discuss.”

“They want you to feel like a true part of the class—which you are, of course. And it makes for a nice sense of unity, after all, to see everyone gathered around a table eating and talking to one another.”

Ryoma let out another grunt. “How about you? Are you able to join everyone else even with all the work you do?”

“I find time to do so,” said Kirumi, taking another sip of tea. “Admittedly, I don’t do it often given how many students might need my services at any moment, but I try.”

Ryoma stared at her for a moment. “Have you done this before? Sitting down, talking to someone over a cup of tea, not waiting on them?”

“I’ve had similar encounters like this before with my former employers,” Kirumi replied. “Sometimes, when they need advice or simply a listening ear, I sit down and talk to them. Whatever they might need of me, I strive to give.”

“I see.” Ryoma nodded, looking deep in thought again as he drank the broth from the ramen bowl. Kirumi, meanwhile, refilled their cups of tea in equal silence, not wanting to impose any more conversation that Ryoma might find too irksome or casual. Even so, she eyed him again, remembering some of her past employers who, like him, were burdened with more things than they would like to admit. It was evident in the weight beneath his empty eyes, so visible and yet rarely questioned as Ryoma’s aloofness always made people think twice before asking him anything. And yet, his remoteness only made Kirumi remember how she had assisted such people before, and it brought her back to her earlier instinct of helping him. Though she was reconsidering a few things out of respect for Ryoma’s boundaries and privacy, Kirumi felt that she may have already made the first of many steps that etched her decision in stone.

Ryoma finished eating around the same time that their tea ran out. He inclined his head as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You can cook pretty well,” he acknowledged. “That might be the best meal I’ve had since prison.”

“If you like, I can prepare similar meals for you in the future,” Kirumi offered.

“I don’t know. It might be better than going out to eat with all those people around, but I also don’t wanna be a constant bother to your responsibilities.”

“You don’t have to worry about such things. I can handle the workload.”

“I’m sure you can. It’s just . . .” Ryoma shook his head. “I don’t want you wasting too much of your time on someone like me. There are other people who deserve your services more than I do.”

Kirumi bowed. “It’s not often that I take the liberty of deciding for myself who requires my services, but if you will, please allow me to keep assisting you like this. If you would not take up the prospect of joining our class during mealtimes, permit me to at least bring you food so that you would not starve yourself for too long before going out to eat. And if there is anything else you need assistance with, I will do my best to help in that as well.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re gonna be following me around like a servant or something,” Ryoma told her bluntly. “I won’t let anyone do that.”

“Do not worry. I will not do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable. Just think of it as . . . an invitation. From one classmate to another.”

Ryoma looked up at her, his seriousness partially dissipating and his round eyes exuding mild surprise at the turnaround. Kirumi stood up straight, trying to stay as formal as ever, but her amusement had picked up slightly as she gauged Ryoma’s reaction. After a few moments of silence, Ryoma let out a soft chuckle.

“Well-played,” he said. “Alright, if that’s what you want, then sure. But on one condition, though.”

“Yes?” asked Kirumi.

Ryoma nodded towards the tray. “Bring a pot of tea every time.”

Now it was Kirumi’s turn to be surprised. Staring deep into Ryoma’s round eyes again, somehow she felt reassured by the circumstances that had led up to this moment. With the mixture of seriousness and acknowledgment on his face, the Ultimate Tennis Pro seemed to think so as well.

She smiled at him. “Of course.”


	3. Recognition

Walking alone in the courtyard, Ryoma sighed with both annoyance and resignation; the sunlight that shone down upon him made him slightly regret having only his black leather jacket to wear alongside his prison uniform. Beneath his beanie, he could feel sweat dampening his brow and scalp. Still, the discomfort of it all was better than languishing in his room all day, where he had spent the past few days trying to find small ways to get used to the new environment he was in. Naturally, the most obvious change was the freedom to walk around and do whatever he fancied during his free time—and there was a lot of that, Ryoma found, even though he still refused to use it on anything that involved tennis. His nights were free of the ungodly wakeup calls that the more mean-spirited jailers in prison often did just to spite him and other inmates; gone were the threats of physical pain and even death from those who recognized who he was and what he did; and even taking baths felt odd but comforting nonetheless without other prisoners being around to mock him for his height and harass him with unsavory proposals.

Still, in spite of these positive changes, there were things that Ryoma still could not get used to; he had stripped his bed of its mattress and slept on the bare frame, looking for the uncomfortable sensation of his cold steel bed in prison; he did some basic exercises within the privacy of his room every morning and afternoon, the duration of his routines timed down to the second as if a guard was still roaming around reminding him that his exercise time was up; and even as some of his classmates in 80-A began wearing the official brown uniform for Ultimates, he still kept wearing his prison garb out of habit. The chains trailing after his left ankle were out of the question, given that he was never given the key for their removal when he left prison; Ryoma wondered if they stayed there because the system wanted him and everyone else to remember that he was still a criminal, regardless of which prestigious school he was asked to attend. These thoughts weighed him down more than any manacle did.

And yet, Kirumi Tojo stayed true to her word. Not a lot of people had the interest—or the courage—yet to approach him of their own volition, and Ryoma made it a point to avoid those who actively sought him out regardless like Kaede and Kaito. Kirumi, on the other hand, was someone that he somehow felt comfortable with, regardless of the highly formal nature of their time together. Three days had passed since she had shown up so suddenly at his room, delivering a tray of food like she had guessed that he was hungry but also reluctant to join the rest of the school at the cafeteria. Since then, Kirumi kept bringing him lunch without fail, and the dishes she had brought him were nothing short of amazing.

Even though he had given his express acquiescence to her request to keep doing such things for him, Ryoma kept guessing what Kirumi’s actual motivations were. The only solid fact he knew so far was that it was all simply part of her creed as the Ultimate Maid, to serve those who need it, but Ryoma could not stop himself from wondering if he was a special case in Kirumi’s mind. After all, she admitted that she had taken the liberty of deciding that he was someone in need of her services, which was different from the other students who openly requested her to tend to them. Part of him wanted to think that he seemed so wretched and pathetic to the point where he was starting to actively draw sympathy instead of warding it away, but Ryoma doubted that Kirumi simply wanted to patronize him.

A stone bench in the courtyard provided him with some solitary respite—not that it mattered, seeing as how little to no Ultimates seemed to take notice of him in spite of his eccentric appearance or his former celebrity status. The rest of his classmates were scattered throughout the school, free to do whatever they wanted as lunchtime approached.

Ryoma was deep in his thoughts about what else the day had to offer when he sensed movement at his back, heralded by a brief rustle in the hedges behind the bench. He quickly leapt off the bench and whirled around, his mind shifting towards another gear in an instant as he faced the intruder. However, his expectations screeched to a halt as he found himself staring at his classmate Gonta Gokuhara. The butterfly net he was wielding looked like a toy in his huge hands, and his muscular frame stretched taut over his brown uniform as he tensed. Standing there with his wild, entangled mane of hair and his massive frame towering over Ryoma, he resembled a human tree.

“Ah, Gonta sorry!” the Ultimate Entomologist hastily blurted out, taking a step backwards. “Gonta not mean to scare Ryoma!”

“It’s fine,” said Ryoma, shaking his head as he relaxed his stance. In his surprised state, his mind had instantly formed the image of an armed inmate wanting to get the jump on him like so many that had tried before. “What were you doing behind my back?” he asked Gonta, trying not to add any edge to his tone in case the Ultimate Entomologist thought that he was angry.

“G-Gonta just catching butterflies. School filled with wonderful butterflies—and many other bugs, too,” replied Gonta. His face was still tinged with worry as he adjusted his round glasses. “Gonta should have spoken up sooner. Sneaking around not very gentlemanly.”

“I said it’s okay, so don’t worry about it too much,” Ryoma reiterated. “Just be more careful next time.”

“O-Of course! Gonta will remember.” At that, Gonta smiled, looking rather childlike for someone so enormous. “Gonta not know Ryoma could move so fast like that. Ryoma is strong and fit!”

Ryoma grunted to himself. “Thanks, I guess. Anyway, you might be busy. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”

“Oh, yes! Gonta must find more spots for more bugs.” Gonta stood up straighter, his towering figure momentarily casting a shadow over Ryoma, but as he made to walk away, he turned back to look at him with some reluctance. “What about Ryoma? Ryoma just sit here alone again?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine here,” Ryoma told him. “Or maybe I’ll find a different spot too, I don’t know.”

“Oh, okay. Is Ryoma coming to eat with Gonta and rest of friends later?”

Ryoma shook his head, remembering his lunchtime with Kirumi. “I’ll be eating somewhere else.”

“Oh, o-okay,” said Gonta, looking momentarily sad before continuing. “Gonta just notice that Ryoma always alone. Kaede ask Gonta and others about it, too. But Gonta not sure how to ask Ryoma. Might not be very gentlemanly.”

“I . . . I see,” Ryoma muttered.

“But Gonta hope Ryoma join friends soon!” Gonta went on enthusiastically. “Always good to have friends. If Ryoma have no friends, Gonta happy to be Ryoma’s friend!”

Ryoma fell silent at his words, wondering for a moment just how long it has been indeed since he last had friends. After all, most—if not all—of the people he had been friends with were gone now, and the knowledge of it made him feel even emptier. Nevertheless, unable to bring himself to shut down Gonta’s wholehearted innocence, he could only manage to give the Ultimate Entomologist an awkward nod and say, “Yeah. I . . . I appreciate that. Thanks.”

Again, Gonta flashed that trusting smile of his. “Good! Anyway, Gonta need to go now. Catch Ryoma later!”

And with that, Gonta departed, vanishing behind a corner of new hedges in search of more butterflies. Ryoma watched him go in silence, chuckling to himself for a moment at how comedic their initial encounter seemed with the image of their contrasting appearances. Still, he felt comforted by Gonta’s friendliness, enough for him to look forward to Kirumi’s arrival later on with slightly increased anticipation. Whether this would be a short-lived comfort once lunchtime passed remains to be seen.

* * *

Kirumi arrived that noon with a plate of curry, the rice in the middle looking like a fluffy white island amid the sea of red, orange and yellow. Its smell wafted into the room as soon as Kirumi entered, making Ryoma look up from where he had just finished doing sit-ups.

“You’re here early,” he told her as he stood up.

“There were fewer students who required my services at the cafeteria,” Kirumi explained, setting her tray down on the table. “Most of them wanted their food delivered to their rooms instead.”

“Maybe because they’ve seen you coming in here bringing food,” Ryoma proffered rather grimly.

“Perhaps, though most of them seemed to be simply too busy to go to the cafeteria,” said Kirumi. “Some of them are hard at work putting their talent to use.”

Ryoma grunted. “Like you, huh? I feel like a lame slacker compared to you lot.”

Kirumi bowed her head in respectful contrition. “Forgive me. It was not my intention to slight you in any way.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I mean, it’s true, isn’t it?” Ryoma stated as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “You guys are putting in a lot of work becoming better at your talents, like true Ultimates. As for me? Well, I’ve still got a ways to go.”

“But you are exercising and staying healthy,” Kirumi countered. “You are not wasting your free time in any way. You are still being productive on your own.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just part of what I’ve been doing for the past couple of years.” Ryoma sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s just settle down for now. Have you eaten already?”

“Not yet. I must complete my services to others first before I take the time to eat for myself.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I will manage,” said Kirumi, holding herself up with a certain measure of poise. “That reminds me, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It would only take a second.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

At that, Kirumi took out a small notepad from her skirt’s pocket. Feeling rather confused, Ryoma hung back as she detached a pen from it and flipped through the pages, stopping at a certain point. She turned to Ryoma again with a serious air.

“Are there any foods that you avoid or detest?” she asked him.

Ryoma frowned. “Er . . . I don’t think I have any,” he replied, still puzzled.

“I see. Any food allergies that you might have?”

“. . . None that I remember.”

Kirumi nodded, taking on an increasingly professional demeanor as she jotted down notes. “How about bedding preferences? Any particulars that you might want me to take note of?”

Ryoma sat up straighter, his confusion peaking. “I don’t . . . Hold on, what’s this all about?” he inquired.

Her eyes flitting back at him, Kirumi seemed to snap out of a trance. “Oh, my apologies. I should have been more forthright with my intentions from the start,” she replied with a dutiful bow as she lowered the notepad. “I’ve been going around the school asking students the same questions. It helps me identify each and every preference they might have regarding their food, laundry, beddings and such. I’ve been meaning to ask you sooner, but there are more students in the school than one would expect, and some of them have quite the number of preferences as well.”

“And by taking down notes, you’re aiming to remember _all_ of them?” asked Ryoma.

“Of course,” said Kirumi matter-of-factly, as if such a prospect was the simplest thing in the world. “It has always been a part of my responsibilities to know the preferences of those I serve. That way, I would be able to fulfill their requests to the best of my abilities.”

Ryoma frowned again, trying to imagine the degree at which Kirumi was working. “I don’t really know what to say. I mean, if you’re able to keep track of everything like that . . . well, I guess that’s exactly why you’re the Ultimate Maid.”

Kirumi bowed again. “Thank you for your praise. Now, if you would, there are a few more questions I need to ask.”

“Alright, shoot.”

As she had explained to him, most of Kirumi’s questions were indeed about his personal predilections regarding anything that might require her services as the Ultimate Maid. Ryoma answered her as honestly as he could, feeling rather conscious about how plain some of his replies were—after all, he had no specific preferences to demand, especially after spending the past few years living bare-bones in prison. Not even during his tennis-playing days did he demand anything in the same vein that certain students did, as Kirumi had implied.

When Kirumi was done, she pocketed her notepad and bowed respectfully again, exchanging a word of thanks with him. Ryoma could only nod back for a while, feeling rather conscious of what had transpired, but he kept his silence as Kirumi began pouring tea for the two of them. He mixed up his curry and rice in the meantime, still feeling pensive, and it did not take long before Kirumi began to notice his quietness.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t know what to say, to be honest,” Ryoma replied.

Kirumi tensed a little. “Did my queries make you feel uncomfortable?” she inquired. “If so, I apologize.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ryoma told her quickly. “It’s just new to me, that’s all. Let’s just say that . . . that I wasn’t expecting a lowlife like me to get this kind of treatment.”

“You are an Ultimate, and one of many who make this place the prestigious institution that it is,” Kirumi reminded him. “It is only natural that you are treated as such.”

“Really? A criminal like me?” said Ryoma with a hint of bitterness. He chewed on a spoonful of curry, chewed, swallowed and continued. “I’ve had my chance at life, and I blew it big time. There are other people out there who deserve it more than I do.”

“But sometimes, those chances still come in the end, because it is not always up to us to decide if we are worthy or unworthy,” Kirumi retorted. “You being here with us . . . that only means you have been deemed worthy.”

Ryoma scoffed. “The last time I was deemed ‘worthy’ of something, it didn’t turn out so well,” he muttered. “What makes you think this will be any different?”

Kirumi lowered her cup with a serious but meaningful air in her eyes. “I cannot say at the moment, but what I do know is that it is up to us as people to make the choices that we must, in order to see if things will indeed turn out different. And that is what I wish to help you with.”

“’Help me with,’ eh? Is that how you put it?” asked Ryoma as he sipped some tea.

“Yes.” Kirumi faced him directly from across the table, that thoughtful gleam never leaving her demeanor. “I can see potential in you still, Ryoma. In spite of everything that happened, in spite of where you are now, you still possess it.”

Ryoma matched her gaze, leaning back as he placed his cup down. “Somehow I knew that you also had a knack for figuring people out just by looking at them,” he said with a brief chuckle. “But are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

“I have sensed this before with some of my former employers,” said Kirumi. “Many of them were unguided, unable to unleash their true potential. As fate would have it, I was there to help point them in the right direction. I feel that it is both my duty and desire to help such individuals unlock what lies dormant beneath them, so that they may become the person that they were meant to be.”

“What little ‘potential’ I had is long gone,” said Ryoma, his bitterness towards himself returning to color his deep voice. “If you don’t believe me, ask the ones who were involved in what I did. You know the story, right? I mean, it doesn’t take much for you and the others to know that . . . that I’m just a lost cause now. I’m a criminal. I committed a horrible crime, all because I chose to go about things poorly when I should’ve been playing smart. Does that sound like someone who still has ‘potential’ to you?”

Silence descended upon them. Kirumi’s expression looked unfathomable now as she stared at him from across the table. Ryoma, on the other hand, cast his gaze down and continued eating, chewing on his food slowly, hating himself above anything else. But it was no longer a hatred presaged by immense anger as it was in the first few weeks of his incarceration, no. It was an icy form of resignation; the knowledge that he was done trying to find any reason to keep justifying his existence and what he had done; knowledge that left him emptier than the barest cell the justice system had to offer. And it was this cold indifference, this form of apathetic renunciation of anything about his being that he was showing someone like Kirumi, which he could show to naïve Gonta and Kaede and the rest of the class once he reminded them of what he was at the end of it all: a condemned criminal.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly after a while. “I don’t want you to feel like . . . like I’m shutting down your principles or anything. If anything, I appreciate what you’ve been doing, bringing me food and all that. But that’s more than enough. I don’t want you wasting your faith on me as well.”

From across the table, Kirumi nodded once. She took another sip of tea, placed her cup down, and sat up straighter with a sigh.

“If you felt slighted by my sentiments once again, I sincerely apologize, Ryoma,” she stated in a silent but respectful tone. “I did not mean to cause you any form of discomfort, especially about your past. If you feel that I am intruding on something that you do not feel comfortable with, please do not hesitate to reprimand me.”

“It’s alright,” Ryoma told her. “It’s not your fault, anyway. Besides, if you’ve got something that you want to tell me, feel free to say it. I might have my own things to say in return, but I don’t have any right to stop you from speaking, you know?”

A look of surprise crossed Kirumi’s elegant features. “Are you sure of that?”

“Of course. You don’t have to keep asking for my permission about it,” Ryoma replied.

“I feel that it would be the polite thing to do nonetheless,” said Kirumi, inclining her head. Again, silence fell, and Kirumi looked pensive as she stared into the depths of her cup of tea. Ryoma observed her keenly, gauging what thoughts and emotions he could read on her beautiful face.

At last, Kirumi spoke up again. “About what you have said . . . Forgive me, but to listen to you say all those things, about how you regard yourself now . . . as intrusive and insolent as this might sound, it urges me to help you even more. And it is not simply because it is what I’ve done before many times in the past. As I’ve told you before, I am aware of what happened to you, of what you’ve done. But there is something else underneath it all, something apart from what the world has already seen.”

“What else is there to see other than that? I don’t think anyone remembers anything else about me apart from that. ‘Killer Tennis.’ Yeah, that’s the name they came up with.” Ryoma scoffed as he remembered all the news articles and the reports on television that he had seen during the course of his trial; the moniker had hurt more than he had expected, and it still did now.

“But before that, you were one of the greatest tennis prodigies of the decade,” Kirumi proffered. “And I am certain that you still are.”

Ryoma felt a renewed surge of bitterness course through his veins at the thought. He shot a dark glance at the dressers where he had indiscriminately stashed most of the tennis gear Hope’s Peak had prepared for him. Still, he could not bring himself to shut down Kirumi’s views at the moment, and so he merely continued listening.

“Ryoma, there is still some of that talent left in you,” said Kirumi, her tone growing firm. “It is why you were chosen to join us all as an Ultimate. That is what Hope’s Peak Academy chose to see instead of your past. You are not a lost cause. You are still capable of unearthing and harnessing the talent that you possess within you, your skill as the Ultimate Tennis Pro, and . . . if you will, I wish to help you with that. It is what compels me to keep offering you my services like this, if you would have them.”

Ryoma let out a sigh, dwelling on Kirumi’s words as he picked idly at his food. True enough, he felt uncomfortable and even troubled every time he would hear about tennis and his past, though he did not want to shut Kirumi down in the same way that he wanted to silence the likes of busybodies he had encountered before. And again, just like he had guessed from her a few days ago at breakfast, Ryoma knew that there was more that Kirumi wanted to say.

“How?” he finally muttered, his terse tone causing Kirumi to look at him in surprise.

“. . . What?” she asked.

“How can you be sure that your help won’t be wasted? That’s one thing I wanna know. And don’t get me wrong, I know what you’re capable of, from what I’ve seen and heard so far, but like I’ve been saying, it’ll just be squandered on me. Even if, by some sort of miracle, I end up getting my groove back, it’s pointless. My endgame is still prison—that is, if the justice system doesn’t throw me on death row as soon as I get back. Would you waste your efforts on someone who’s doomed either way?”

As Kirumi sat there pondering on his words, Ryoma was sure that he might have finally curbed her notions of helping him—though whether or not he still wanted to do so, he could not say. All he knew was that his words rang true. After all, part of what made being in Hope’s Peak a sobering experience for him was the fact that instead of moving on to other great heights after graduating, he would simply be shipped back to his dreary, well-deserved life in prison. Though he did not want to prove that point merely to crush Kirumi’s determination, he could not change the truth in his words.

“I confess, I do not have any satisfactory response to that right now,” Kirumi stated at last. “All I can offer you as assurance are my own experiences. As I have told you before, I have encountered employers who have had their fair share of burdens before. I cannot tell you much about them, as such details should remain confidential, but I will tell you what I can. These men, they saw themselves as struggling individuals prone to failure, or those who have fallen by the wayside and even into a life of crime. I, on the other hand, sensed greatness within in them, and the potential towards it that was until then untapped and misguided—or beaten down by fate. And my duties as a servant compelled me not only to serve them on their whims, but also to help guide them on the right path and realize that potential, to regain what they have lost. In the end, they went on to become esteemed individuals and respectable businessmen, when otherwise they would have remained where they were, unable to grow out of the shells they were trapped in.”

She reached out and poured some more tea into her cup, taking a small sip before continuing. “That is what I wish to assist you in as well. Your past may already be etched in stone, but your future is something else entirely. Even though we tend to speak of the future with seeming finality, nothing is certain, and life has its way of surprising us all. The only things that we can make certain are our decisions in the end to make the most out of it all, to owe it to ourselves to grow and realize our full potential. Will I derive some measure of fulfillment from all this? Perhaps, but neither is it for my personal gain nor pleasure. This is what my principle of selfless devotion stands upon: the ability to give my all to those who require my assistance, so that I may see them through regardless of what I might draw from it.

“But of course, that does not mean I will impose this upon you against your will,” she went on, holding herself up with a formal demeanor once again. “As difficult as it is for me to let your potential go to waste, if you do not feel at ease, I will respect your sentiments and refrain from helping you with it. As a maid, I can merely give my opinions, and as you have given me leave to express them freely, I have done so. Any more than that is out of the question without your consent. My services will remain free for you to call upon, but I will make no more mention of what we are discussing right now, nor will I overstep any of your boundaries ever again. You merely have to give the word.”

Again, Ryoma could only lock gazes with Kirumi, virtually at a loss for words. Here she was, explaining everything as objectively as she could in spite of her obvious wish to help him, even offering him the chance to command her to never bring up such a prospect ever again. _Yet here I am feeling reluctant all over again,_ he mused inwardly with indignation, wondering what exactly it was that was causing his cold resolve to falter. Was it the regret that he could sense in Kirumi’s voice that was compelling him to stop short of expressing his approval? Was it the feeling that he might have simply intimidated Kirumi into sacrificing her ideals with the sheer amount of bitterness he displayed as he disparaged himself? Or, the universe be damned, was it the thought that in spite of how undeserving he deemed himself to be, in spite of how much he loathed himself for the blood that still stained his hands after all these years, a small part of him clung onto the hope that Kirumi had mentioned as she declared her intentions to support him?

“. . . I’ll think about it.” Even with the ambiguous nature of his words, Ryoma knew that they were merely an indirect nod towards affirmation. Guilt, regret and shame racked him all at once, the remnants of a decision that meant burdening someone with problems only he should bear, and yet somehow he found himself wanting to see how this particular prospect would end.

“I don’t know what will happen, nor do I know how you’re gonna go about this or if I’ll respond with anything more than what I’m showing you right now,” he went on quietly, “but who knows? Maybe you’re right. Maybe the universe will prove me wrong in some way, or that it’ll miraculously change my mind, I don’t know. Just know that if you really want to do this, you’re gonna have a hard time convincing me that it’s not all meaningless. Still, I won’t use that as an excuse to trample on your principles and whatnot. If this is what selfless devotion is to you as the Ultimate Maid, I’ll respect that.”

Kirumi listened to him in total silence, her beautiful features betraying no hint of further surprise or any other emotion. As he finished speaking, Ryoma could only sit back and wait for her next course of action. It was like a game of chess where he had just backed himself into a certain position—whether it was a precarious one or not, that was up to fate to decide now—and he was merely waiting for Kirumi to cap it off with her final move as well.

“Very well,” said Kirumi with a dutiful smile; though there was no explicit expression to be seen on her face, Ryoma could tell how pleased she seemed. “I shall do my very best to help you, Ryoma. I thank you for giving me this opportunity to support you.”

“Likewise,” Ryoma muttered with a nod. “Now, I guess I should be finishing up this curry before it grows stone cold. Wouldn’t want to be stuck here all day eating. . .”

“Of course,” said Kirumi, smiling this time.

The rest of the hour went by without incident. Kirumi kept drinking tea for herself and pouring some for him whenever he would run out, until at last the teapot was drained. Ryoma himself finished eating not long afterwards, his mind still too focused on the decision he had just made in order to eat more quickly. Though he still felt shamed by the idea that Kirumi would have to bear the weight that he was carrying in order for her to help him, he wanted to look at things on the bright side instead of simply being the constant naysayer in their new dynamic.

“So what’s gonna happen now?” he asked her after a while.

“Most of that is up to you,” Kirumi replied as she arranged everything neatly atop the tray she had brought. “However, I will strive to give you what advice I could on what you can do to help yourself. From what I’ve seen, you are not participating in any activities involving tennis, yes?”

“Yeah. I hope you’re not gonna ask me to start playing again immediately.”

“No, don’t worry. That is not part of what I was thinking of.” Kirumi gazed around his room, as if appraising the surroundings alongside her thoughts. “You still exercise daily, correct?”

Ryoma nodded, musing with some dark amusement at how Kirumi’s questions sounded so similar to a cross-examination. “Whatever you might have seen me doing so far is what I do every single day,” he said. “Just hanging around in class, walking around the school, and exercising for the hell of it.”

“Do you want me to establish a better routine for you outside of your room?” Kirumi offered. “It might be even more optimal for your wellness if you managed to make the most out of it in a different environment. I can devise a schedule that will not clash with your daily undertakings, and I will ensure that you are able to follow it without being disturbed by other students, if that is what you wish.”

“You mean working out in the gym, right?”

“Not just the gymnasium, but around the school as well. There are many prospects that I can help you identify, so that the plan I formulate will fit your standards and comforts. We can also discuss it some other time if you wish.”

“We’ll see. Right now, I think I should just wrap up what I’ve been doing so far before I transition to the gym or anywhere else.” Ryoma stared down at his small build, knowing that after shunning tennis and taking on only static exercises like he had been doing in jail, his body was bound to feel the wear and tear of a more rigorous workout regimen. Still, it was better than simply living with the figurative rust of his stagnancy, especially since he had three years to make the most out of.

Kirumi bowed. “Very well. If you want to, I can also prepare a diet plan for you in case you wish to accompany your exercises with the right food,” she offered. “If you also require certain supplements, I would be glad to procure some.”

“Just the food will do,” Ryoma commented. “Anyway, I think that’s enough for now. I don’t want you to take up too much of your time planning all this immediately. We can just take care of the other stuff as we go.”

“Of course. Do you need anything else before I go?” asked Kirumi.

Ryoma shook his head. “I’m just gonna spend the rest of the break resting. If you have other people you need to help, don’t let me stop you.”

“All the requests I have received for lunchtime have been taken care of. More will come later, I presume, but do not hesitate to approach me if you also have a request of your own.” With that, Kirumi stood up and made her way over to the door, her gait undisturbed by the tray she was carrying. Before she left, however, she turned back and looked upon him again.

“Once again, I thank you for giving me the chance to help you, Ryoma,” she said earnestly. “I hope I do not let you down.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think you will,” said Ryoma. “I just hope _I_ don’t let _you_ down.

Kirumi smiled, dispelling the professional seriousness on her face for a moment. Saying nothing more, she left his room, closing the door behind her quietly.

As soon as she was gone, Ryoma heaved a sigh. After taking the first step into this new dynamic, he knew he had to honor it in spite of his constant doubts and the shame of his past. After all, Kirumi was not the first one to accompany him in his undertakings; memories of his tennis buddies and past managers and trainers had come flooding back to him when she spoke to him of exercise routines and diets, bringing him back to better days. In that regard, she might not be the last whom he will disappoint just like he had done with the rest of them. _I hope you don’t make her regret this, you small fool_. Shaking his head, he grabbed a nearby towel and made his way to his bathroom.

* * *

The post-lunchtime bell rang out in the corridors by the time Ryoma exited the shower, wiping any remaining moisture from his chest and shoulders and stretching his arms back; the push-ups he had been doing earlier had taken their toll. The coldness of the room bit into his freshly bathed skin, though it was not as bothersome as the figurative heaviness in him that made his shoulders sag. He walked over to the nearby dresser, taking out a fresh pair of prison clothes and putting them on in complete silence.

Outside, there were very few students still wandering around, none of which Ryoma recognized as he left the dorms. Popping a fresh candy cigarette in his mouth, he walked with nary a glance at them, keeping his beanie low over his eyes. Granted, his attire served to make him stand out instead of offering him some discretion, but none of the students he passed seemed to even notice him as he moved. Feeling somewhat comforted by this, Ryoma made his way up to the main building’s second floor, wondering where he could go without having to go back to his room in defeat for being unable to find something else to do.

A quick glance at a map next to the main staircase told him more about the main building’s facilities, such as a swimming pool on the second floor and a recreational room on the same floor where the 80-A classroom was. Wondering if the swimming pool area was devoid of people and would thus give him a suitable place to pass the time undisturbed, Ryoma decided to check it out for himself.

A group of four large white swing doors sitting side by side pointed him in the right direction as he touched down on the second floor. Some of the classrooms here had their doors wide open, with students conversing in groups as they stood in the doorways or sat at the floor of the corridors. In any case, Ryoma managed to slip by unnoticed as he opened one of the swing doors by an inch, peeking inside in case there were people inside. Thankfully, the coast seemed clear as Ryoma gazed around, and the noise from the corridors died down as he went in, closing the doors quietly.

Though not as spacious as the gymnasium, the swimming pool was still a large facility by any means, with the pool itself covering a large section of the area in the middle. The floors were a mixture of blue tiles and white concrete, with the latter forming certain walkways to give students some space to walk on without slipping and sliding on any wet tiles. The walls were painted with blue and white as well to match the floors, with a large print of the school’s coat of arms at the farthest wall for all to see. All around the pool were bleachers segmented by balustrades and stairs. Lights were suspended from the high ceiling, their glow reflecting off of the pool’s calm surface.

Ryoma walked towards the pool, his shoes tapping against the tiles and concrete, his chains clinking almost deafeningly with every other step as the sounds reverberated off the area’s cavernous walls. When he reached the edge of the swimming pool, he looked at his reflection in the water for a moment, catching a glimpse of how somber he looked and felt as his eyes stared back at him from the pool’s surface. Pairing Kirumi’s sentiments about who he was and what he looked like now, it was as if the Ryoma Hoshi she had been talking about was another person entirely.

“Who’s there?”

Ryoma looked up, momentarily startled. The voice had come from the farthest corner of the area, its terse and rather harsh tone betraying the speaker’s irritation at having been disturbed. Ryoma tensed, cursing the clanking of his chains for giving him away and wondering if he should leave posthaste before he was found out. However, before he could decide on what to do, a figure stepped out from the shadows behind the bleachers at the opposite end of the facility.

The speaker was a short, blonde teenaged boy, shorter than even Shuichi or Keebo. Like the rest of the Ultimates, he was wearing a brown uniform minus a jacket, which he carried over his shoulder. Ryoma would have regarded him as an ordinary student had he not recognized the boy’s hairstyle—a dusty blonde crew-cut, with curved lines shaved on the sides of his head, a trademark found only among certain groups throughout the country—and a familiar pin that shone on his shirt’s left lapel.

_Yakuza._

The boy stopped short of calling out again as he spotted him. A flash of recognition also flitted across his face.

“You?” he said. The shortness of his utterance spoke volumes to Ryoma.

Next to him, another figure also stepped out in the open—a girl, Ryoma saw, judging from her build and the twin silver braids and black ribbons that swung around her shoulders as she made a silent but determined exit from the scene. Like the boy, she was wearing an Ultimate’s uniform without the blazer, and Ryoma glimpsed something long strapped on her back like a sword, wrapped in a dark cloth decorated with silver markings. Within moments, she had ducked into a back door without a word, as if nothing had happened.

Ryoma decided that it would be wise to emulate her, turning away from the scene and walking back to the facility’s entrance, his chains rattling once again with every other quick footstep he made. Behind him, however, the boy called out again.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

Ryoma stopped and looked back for a moment, pulling his beanie low over his eyes. “I don’t want any trouble with you,” he stated quietly. “I was just looking for somewhere quiet to go to.”

A deafening hush fell between them, the Ultimate Tennis Pro and this young yakuza, standing far apart from one another like it was a standoff straight out of an action movie, presaging the climax where shots would be fired and guns would blaze. And with each ticking second, Ryoma wondered if something as tense as that was actually about to go down. Part of him sensed that moving as quickly as he had done earlier with Gonta was a sound choice, though something told Ryoma that such a move was not needed this time around. Meanwhile, the boy simply stood there staring at him, and while he could not make out any of his expressions, Ryoma sensed that he, too, was hesitant about approaching him and potentially causing an incident to break out, whether willingly or indirectly.

At last, daring to break this stalemate of silence, Ryoma turned back to the door and exited the area, his chains rattling almost defiantly as he left. Behind him, the boy did not call out again, though Ryoma knew that it could not be the last that he saw of him. After all, being renowned as a former tennis ace by teenagers and adults alike was one thing, and being recognized as a prisoner with a past by a member of the yakuza was quite another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling pretty darn good about writing this. It's slow-going and takes some getting used to compared to my other fic on FFN, but I'm enjoying planning out the chapters and the general plot as I go. I just hope I will be able to deliver this faster once it starts coming together.
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about creating more of these ship fics in the future. One particular fic I'm leaning strongly towards is Kiiruma (K1-B0 x Miu). However, that would likely come after I'm finished with this one, so it might take a while. We'll see.
> 
> Anyway, that's all for now. See you in the next upload. Cheers!


	4. Connections Under The Sun

As soon as the door of their classroom was closed, nearly everyone stood up and rushed towards Kaede, who was still standing next to her chair and looking thunderstruck.

“Wow! Class representative! You should be proud, Kaede!” Tenko exclaimed. “And it’s good to see that the professors saw enough strength of mind and character in you to choose you for the position—of course, you’re loads better than any degenerate male for it!”

Tsumugi looked rather envious from where she stood at Kaede’s right. “That’s to be expected of such a glowing heroine character,” the Ultimate Cosplayer said with a bit of reverence. “Plain background characters like us just can’t compete.”

“Puh-lease!” said Miu, her hands on her hips. “What does Bakamatsu have that I don’t? Well, I guess you can say sad, sour and dumpy tits, for one thing!” she added with a hoot.

“Hey, hey, come on! There’s no need for any of that!” said Kaito Momota, waving off Miu and her remark dismissively. He turned to Kaede with a smile and a thumbs-up. “Congrats, Kaede! I know you’ll do the class proud with your leadership! But if you wanna learn some more wisdom along the way, I’d be happy to make you my sidekick!”

The Ultimate Child Caregiver, Maki Harukawa, let out a noise of silent disapproval next to him. “You say that like you’re not just some reckless idiot, Momota.”

Kaito recoiled at that, scratching his head sheepishly. “Hey, come on, Maki Roll! I’m just trying to help everyone rise to the occasion. It’s what it means to be the hero, y’know?”

Maki’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I told you what would happen if you kept calling me that, right?” she muttered. Kaito flashed a nervous smile, though he backed away nonetheless.

“C-Congratulations, Kaede,” Shuichi joined in with a smile, his hat failing at covering up the redness of his face. “I hope we can support you all the way in whatever the class takes on.”

Kaede turned pink as well as she grinned back. “Thank you so much, Shuichi. And to you guys as well. Really, I’m just speechless. But also, I’m honored to be chosen as your class representative. I hope I don’t let you all down.”

Angie Yonaga tittered at that as she clapped her hands together. “If you need any sort of guidance in your endeavors, Kaede, remember that you can always pray to Atua,” the Ultimate Artist said with a simper. “He and I will cooperate to guide you, so that you may guide everyone else on the path to salvation!”

Towering above everyone else, Gonta grinned as he looked down at Kaede. “Gonta do his best to support Kaede,” he said, his eyes gleaming behind his round eyeglasses. “And everyone else, too! Gonta promise, like true gentleman!”

Kirumi watched from the sidelines, ready to give her own adulation for Kaede once the others had finished crowding around her. The announcement had come in the wake of their most recent class, as their homeroom professor Koichi Kizakura delivered the news to them before leaving. Had it been up to her, Kirumi could not have made a better choice for class representative; Kaede was strong-willed, confident and extremely easy to get along with. Such a balance allowed her to be a leader who could not only inspire others towards unity, but also someone who was empathic enough to sit down and listen to those who needed it, and she often joined the others in whatever they were doing instead of keeping to herself, making everyone feel comfortable.

Next to Kirumi, Rantaro observed the class with a smile not unlike one an older brother would afford his younger siblings. “It’s pretty nice to see everyone like this,” he remarked. “I mean, with all the colorful personalities in this classroom alone, it’s a wonder that we can get along sometimes.”

Behind him, Korekiyo Shinguji let out a quiet chuckle that only seemed to enhance his uncanny aura. “But such clashing ideals and temperaments are filled with beauty in their own right, yes? The dynamics being exchanged, the emotions running high, the determination, aggression, even the meekness . . . ‘tis a wondrous sight indeed.”

Kirumi nodded at the Ultimate Anthropologist’s remark. “Agreed. The sense of unity it brings can be uplifting, no matter how cacophonic it can be sometimes,” she said.

“To be honest, I thought _you’d_ end up being class rep, Kirumi,” said Rantaro. “Not that Kaede’s a bad choice—she’s perfect for it. It’s just that . . . with your sense of responsibility and your knack of knowing what a person might need, it fits the job description as well.”

“Should I be offered such a responsibility, I would be honored,” replied Kirumi, “but I prefer to serve instead. There is still as much fulfillment to be had in offering one’s services to an able leader like Kaede as there is in being the leader yourself.”

“Others would find the prospect of subservience to be rather demeaning, but there is still beauty in such devotion to service as well,” said Korekiyo. “I am glad to know that you are accustomed to such notions as well, Kirumi. Truly fitting for the Ultimate Maid.”

“Thank you, Korekiyo,” said Kirumi with a modest bow.

“Now then, Rantaro,” said Korekiyo, turning towards Rantaro again with a gleam of curious anticipation in his eyes. “As I’ve mentioned before . . . your travels have something to do with your siblings, yes?”

“Oh, yeah. Something like that,” said Rantaro with a short laugh. “Why are you asking?”

As the two of them talked, Kirumi noticed that her classmates were finally starting to clear up and give Kaede some breathing room. At that, Kirumi approached her hastily. Kaede looked around and smiled as she saw her.

“I believe congratulations are in order, Kaede,” Kirumi told her amiably. “I will do my very best to support you as you represent our class.”

“Thank you, Kirumi,” said Kaede with a nervous but warm smile. “With your help and everyone else’s support, it’s starting to feel manageable. It’s still going to be a handful, though, what with the likes of Miu and Kokichi . . .”

“You rang?” a playful voice rang out suddenly; Kokichi had swooped in behind them, a cheeky grin spread wide on his face, prompting Kaede to jump and Kirumi to step back.

“Don’t pop up like that out of nowhere all of a sudden!” Kaede exclaimed. “It’s rude to scare people like that!”

Kokichi winked. “I just wanted to congratulate you like everyone else is doing, Kaede. Anyway, I heard you and Mommy here talking”—at that, Kirumi let out a sigh—“and I just wanna ask if you’ll really be able to handle the pressure of being class rep. I mean, with the competitiveness and intensity of Ultimates being contained in a single place, there’s bound to be some bloodshed just waiting to happen!” At that, a shrewd gleam shone in his eyes.

“Please do not say such things,” said Kirumi curtly. “The academy inspires concord and cooperation above all, not belligerent competition.”

“Well, maybe I can invite a few of my subordinates to change some things around here, then,” Kokichi remarked casually.

“S-Subordinates?” asked Kaede.

“Duh! What kind of evil supreme leader wouldn’t have subordinates?” Kokichi yelled. “And at ten thousand strong, too, all across the world! With the connections we have and the number of politicians in my organization’s pocket, from the White House to the Kremlin, from Beijing to London, I hold all the cards _and_ a reset button to go with them! One phone call from me and the world changes!”

Kirumi regarded him for a moment. “That . . . is another lie, isn’t it?”

“Is it? . . . Maybe. Or maybe not, who knows?” said Kokichi, laughing. “Anyway, good luck representing our dysfunctional family, Kaede! And if you ever get bored with the world, just let me know. Ciao!”

And with that, Kokichi bounced off, looking for a new classmate to bother as he whistled a merry tune. Kaede shook her head as she watched him go. “Geez, if he’s always like that, I hate to wonder what mental state his subordinates are in,” she said. “If he has any, that is.”

“He is merely being mischievous,” Kirumi commented. “In itself, there isn’t much harm in that, though I hope he doesn’t use it to badger people like he often does with Keebo. Hopefully, with your guidance and authority, Kaede, you will be able to rein him in better.”

“That sounds like a grueling challenge, to be honest,” said Kaede with a nervous laugh, “but I’ll do my best. Not just with him, but with everyone else. Oh, that reminds me!” she added, her eyes lighting up with recall. “How’s Ryoma doing?”

“He seemed fine this morning,” replied Kirumi, staring at the empty seat at the back of the class where Ryoma often sat. “He told me that he might be sitting out the morning periods, since he’s not feeling well. Perhaps after lunchtime, he would be doing a lot better. I’ll make sure to bring him some food that will help him with that.”

“That’s good,” said Kaede with a sigh. “I really hope we can talk to him one of these days. I’m just worried, you know? He’s the only one among us who keeps isolating himself. He deserves to be a part of this just like everyone else.”

“I agree. I hope that my assistance will help him get back on his feet somehow. It can be a tricky business to get through to him, but I will keep doing my best.”

“I know you can, Kirumi!” said Kaede, smiling. Kirumi smiled politely back at her words, though her thoughts were on a more somber wavelength as she remembered her encounter with Ryoma earlier that morning. He had failed to join the early group for breakfast, and just like with his lunch meals, Kirumi prepared some breakfast for him and went to deliver it personally to his room. Ryoma seemed relatively normal as he answered her arrival, though also regretful about giving her trouble so early in the morning.

“Is my routine gonna start today?” he had asked her earlier. “The one you said you’d prepare?”

“Would you like it to begin today?” Kirumi had asked him in return; though she had yet to formulate a final figurative draft for what she had promised him, she had some preliminary activities to offer as a start.

“I dunno. I’m not saying this because I want to slack off or something, just to be clear. It’s just . . . difficult.”

“What is?”

“Our setup. The new schedule. Going out there doing something on a time that’s different from the one I’ve been used to for the past couple of years. Sometimes, I think I have it nailed down, but everything just shifts, and I end up going back to square one trying to get used to it all over again. Not just the surroundings and the time, but the people, too. And all the while, it just feels . . . wrong, like I shouldn’t be a part of any of it, like I shouldn’t even be trying because it’s unnatural.” Ryoma looked disheartened then as he chewed slowly on a piece of toast. “Maybe this is what they meant in those lectures the wardens gave us back in stir.”

“What were the lectures about?” Kirumi had asked him, feeling rather sobered as she hazarded a private guess.

“That by the time we get out, we’ll be begging to go back in because the world will no longer accept us after moving on without us. That whether we’d like it or not, the lives we had before were long gone, and nothing’s there for us to go back to. Not gonna lie, that stuff really gets to you in prison. If the guards aren’t there to remind you of it, you have yourself to listen to all day inside your cell, going over the choices you made and what kind of life you now have.”

It was after this somber reflection that, upon finishing his breakfast, Ryoma had expressed his wish to skip their morning classes for the day. Such absences did not matter much in Hope’s Peak; as long as Ultimates were busy using their time productively, it was not considered an issue to have students skipping their classes to partake in activities related to their talents, though some like Kiyotaka could be found encouraging students to attend classes if they could. Ryoma, of course, was a different matter altogether. Recalling their conversation in her mind, Kirumi knew she would not soon forget the deadened look that suffused Ryoma’s round eyes then, hinting at the untold stories about his crime and incarceration that no newspaper article or TV report could ever capture. If anything, it encapsulated just how slow and high of a climb it would be for Ryoma to recover—and how difficult it is as well for her to help him.

* * *

Kirumi had just finished serving meals for lunchtime later that noon when she was approached by Keebo, who looked rather somber as he glanced at the eating students on the tables. She turned to him dutifully as she saw him approach. “Greetings, Keebo. Is there anything you need?” she asked him with a bow.

“No, I’m quite fine. Thank you, Kirumi,” replied Keebo. “I’m here to bring you a message from Ryoma, actually.”

Kirumi raised her eyebrows, feeling surprise and concern well up in her. “What is it about?”

“He wanted you to know that he would be skipping lunch today. He asked me to tell you before you delivered food to his room.”

“Did he say why?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Keebo rather apologetically, “though he did say that if you want to look for him, he will be at the courtyard near the open field.”

“I see.” Kirumi glanced towards the direction of the open field, putting two and two together and hoping that Ryoma’s choice to skip lunch had nothing to do with his dejection that morning. “I’ll go talk to him after I’m through here. Thank you for telling me, Keebo.”

“It was nothing,” said Keebo, smiling.

It was around one o’clock when Kirumi made her way to the courtyard, traversing under the covered walkways that shielded her from the sun. Some of the Reserve Course students populated this area, chatting under the shade of trees or at the stone benches that lined the walkways. A few of them gazed with awe and admiration as she passed—partly due to her uniform as well, Kirumi knew, which stood out rather oddly against the simple uniforms of the Main and Reserve Courses.

The bench that Ryoma had occupied sat underneath a towering maple tree, its leaves a mixture of green and yellow that fluttered lazily in the afternoon breeze. Ryoma himself looked like a child underneath its shade, sitting atop the bench with his feet barely touching the ground. It made for a peaceful image that was sadly belied by an underlying bleakness for those who were familiar with the Ultimate Tennis Pro.

Ryoma looked up at the sound of her soft footsteps, looking resigned. “I hope this wasn’t another bother for you,” he muttered.

“It was no trouble,” said Kirumi in return. “May I sit next to you?”

“Of course.” Ryoma scooted to one side of the bench, making enough room for her to sit down. As she did so, Kirumi maintained a respectable distance away from him.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked him. “Everyone else has eaten.”

“Not really,” Ryoma replied, taking out a new candy cigarette from a small box in his pocket and chewing on it idly. “I was looking out of the windows in my room, and I couldn’t resist exploring more of this place for a change. I ran into someone the first time I tried, but I didn’t want to let it stop me.”

“Who did you run into?”

“. . . Yakuza.”

Kirumi regarded him with surprise. “Do you mean Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu? From Class 77-B?”

“So you know him?” asked Ryoma.

Kirumi nodded, remembering her first meeting with Class 77-B. “I’ve encountered his name and talent before when I was going door to door during the second day of classes.”

Ryoma grunted. “No wonder his pin looked familiar. I didn’t know the Kuzuryu Clan had someone studying here as a student.” He paused for a moment, staring out into the field. “He recognized me.”

“Oh, did you two speak to one another?”

“Not really. He seemed keen about it, but I didn’t want any trouble.” Ryoma shook his head, looking surly. “I’ve had enough of mobsters for one lifetime. It’s one thing to just hear about them, and it’s a whole new world to tangle with them outright. A lot of them know what I did, and they don’t seem too happy that I got off with just a life sentence. Maybe this one from the Kuzuryu Clan has the same beef.”

“Perhaps not,” Kirumi proffered. “We’re here as students, not as rivals or enemies. No matter what you did, I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to go after you at this point.”

“How can you tell?”

“We are part of a highly prestigious university—the most esteemed in the country, and one that is known across the world. Hope’s Peak Academy exerts sizeable influence, and its students are both prized and protected. Should anything untoward happen to you because of your past crimes while you are here as a scouted student, it would create complex consequences for those responsible, and I doubt any undesirable elements would dare take such a risk. Also, if a known name such as the Kuzuryu Clan has one of their children scouted as a student here, it shows just how well-known and accepted the academy is even among their circles.

“You seem to know a lot about this kind of stuff,” said Ryoma as he looked around at her.

“I’ve had my share of encounters,” said Kirumi.

Ryoma raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Sounds like quite a story. Better than mine, I hope.”

Kirumi could only smile a little as she remembered her past undertakings with her former employers. Like Ryoma, there was a lot more that she was unable to discuss, particularly when it came to dealing with undesirables like the mafia.

“Perhaps, in the future, I will be able to tell you about some of them,” was all that she could say at the moment.

Ryoma chuckled softly. “If you’ll have me, I’ll look forward to that.”

As midday wore on and the afternoon began to creep in, the conversations continued. Though she wondered if any students back at the main building were looking for her services, Kirumi had no qualms staying with Ryoma and simply talking about whatever crossed their minds, even if there was no teapot to share between them. She told him of Kaede’s appointment as their class’s representative, of lunchtime with the rest of the class, and the other Ultimates she had encountered all the while. It was small talk, the kind that would seem commonplace for those who were looking to discuss anything under the sun, but nonetheless it seemed to make Ryoma feel better, and Kirumi felt glad that she was able to help him brighten up with it.

“I’ve been thinking about . . . about what my routine is gonna be,” Ryoma stated after a while, straightening up slowly. “I’m still worried that I might stink up the gym so badly with my rust and cause a delay for any other students who can use the place better. Then again, if I train when no one else is around, like at nighttime . . . is that even allowed?”

“I may be able to secure some special permission for you from the faculty,” said Kirumi. “If they believe that it falls in line with your talent, they may allow you to use the gymnasium’s facilities at night.”

“You mean special treatment? I don’t know about that. It might not seem fair to the other gym users.” Ryoma sighed grimly. “Geez, this may be a lot more difficult to figure out than I thought.”

“Maybe we can begin laying down a few preliminary points that we can develop a plan from,” Kirumi offered. “Is it okay if I ask you about any of your specific preferences?”

“Go ahead.”

“Very well, then. What kind of environment would you prefer to exercise in? Are there any particulars in the equipment and whatnot?”

Ryoma paused for a moment, his brow furrowed with thought. “I’m not too picky with the equipment, so I’ll be fine in that regard. As for the environment, I’d rather work out alone most of the time. I’m used to being alone even back when I was still . . . still playing,” he added rather reluctantly, “but if I had to work out with someone else around . . . well, if it’s with someone I know, I guess that’ll be fine, too.”

As she listened to his words, Kirumi began going through her memory as to who exactly frequented the gymnasium the most, and if any of them were students that Ryoma would feel comfortable exercising with. Class 78’s Aoi Asahina and Sakura Ogami, along with Class 77-B’s Akane Owari and Nekomaru Nidai were some of the most common visitors there; from their own class, Tenko and Kaito were regulars, with the former warming up there before her Neo-Aikido training sessions at the nearby dojo and the latter often bringing Shuichi and even Maki Harukawa in tow for some basic exercise routines. Though these students were all generally friendly enough—with the possible exception of Tenko, mostly due to Ryoma being a male—most of them had little to no prior interactions with the Ultimate Tennis Pro. And while Shuichi and Maki would provide little to no problems due to their general aloofness, Kaito was an entirely different matter; Kirumi remembered the first time that he and Ryoma met in class, and how Ryoma was visibly irked at the Ultimate Astronaut’s prodding about his days as a tennis ace. As such, she knew that another encounter between the two of them might discourage Ryoma from coming to the gymnasium again.

“Maybe I can accompany you instead,” she offered.

Ryoma frowned. “How exactly is that going to work?”

“If you do not wish to exercise with anyone you are unfamiliar with, perhaps I can keep you company in order to help you feel more comfortable,” replied Kirumi. “That way, you can at least focus on what you need to do without having to worry about being alone in such an environment.”

“So you’re gonna stand by somewhere and wait for me while I’m exercising?”

“No. I will exercise with you.”

The offer was out before Kirumi could even think twice, though there was nothing in it for her to be reluctant about. After all, in itself it was also an offer from one friend to another, and not merely the notion of a servant to coddle her master like it was in prior cases. Ryoma, on the other hand, looked at her as if she was starting to stick to her devotion to duty a bit too much.

“. . . Are you serious about that?” he asked her slowly.

“Of course,” said Kirumi. “I do some exercising of my own during mornings, but it would be nice to also do so in the afternoons when my schedule is freer. That way, it would be a two-pronged resolution; I will be able to keep being productive with my time, while you are able to exercise with no fear of being left alone with people you are uncomfortable with. And if you or any other students in the gymnasium have any requests, at least I can be readily called upon. What do you say?”

Ryoma stared at her for a moment, as if he was physically digesting her words the same way he was chewing on his candy cigarette. Kirumi waited patiently for his reply, wondering if she was offering too much—or even too little.

After a while, Ryoma shook his head. “That seems like too much for me to ask.”

“Do not worry about me. It is a manageable choice, nothing that’s worth too much trouble,” Kirumi assured him. “However, I do wish to make sure that my decision would not be bothersome for you,” she added, ready to think of another approach should Ryoma ask. “Would I impede you, or be a source of discomfort in any way?”

“No, not like that,” Ryoma clarified. “It’s just . . . It feels like I’m starting to make you babysit me.”

“I’m certain the other students would not think so,” said Kirumi. “My services do not amount to babysitting, after all.”

“Maybe, but you know how some people think sometimes. And believe me, with my size and looks, they’d have one hell of a laugh, and I don’t want anyone making fun of you because of that.”

“I have endured far worse in my early work experiences,” said Kirumi, sitting up in a decorous manner. “I simply wish to see this through to the best of my abilities, both as a maid and as your classmate, if you would have me. And thus, I came to the conclusion that in order for you to feel at ease, I shall do this alongside you, as any friend would for a troubled companion. If any person finds something comical about my choice or my methods, or in how you and I look working together like this, let them laugh. To me, being productive and helping you is more important than any mockery I may endure.”

A hush fell upon them following her words. In the silence, Kirumi pondered on her choices, and again she found nothing wrong in them for her to balk in any way. Going down a maid’s career path had taught her many things, and chief among them was the notion that being questioned and even ridiculed about one’s methods was always part of the job. It had been rather challenging for her to shoulder such reactions at first, back when she had been a maid in training at a mere fifteen years old, but the years that followed had given her the wisdom that such critics often failed to see; that there was no single approach or method to all the tasks and problems a maid may face. In Ryoma’s case, Kirumi knew she had to take a more personal approach instead of simply dealing with him too formally all the time, and she guessed that in spite of his reluctance, Ryoma was indeed more comfortable with her as a classmate and friend rather than as a servant.

Ryoma looked away for a moment. The look in his eyes was more serious than anything Kirumi had seen from him before, and yet the brief smile that crossed his lips was soft, belying the heaviness in his aura.

“You’re starting to remind me of someone,” he muttered.

The personal nature of the statement brought Kirumi’s dutifulness to a halt. It was something that she was not expecting, least of all from someone as distant and aloof as Ryoma.

“. . . May I ask who?” she asked reluctantly.

When Ryoma did not reply immediately, Kirumi felt that she might have at last struck a nerve in the Ultimate Tennis Pro. _Of course. It was too personal for me to even ask._ Still, she could not stop herself from being curious enough to inquire; it was the first time that Ryoma had spoken about something other than his prison experiences, something that harkened back to his past before his fall from grace, when he had simply been Ryoma Hoshi, the famed tennis ace whose victories and titles would put most tennis players to shame.

At last, Ryoma spoke up again, his voice tinged with a different emotion this time. “I already noticed it before,” he said, avoiding Kirumi’s question. “It didn’t seem much to me—a lot of people have similarities that start to become ordinary once you see them. But when you were speaking earlier, when you were talking about letting people think what they think, say what they say, and focusing on what’s important, I think I . . . I see her spirit in you.”

“How can you tell?” Kirumi asked.

Ryoma turned around and looked directly in her eyes. It was a piercing look, but the kind that brooked interest rather than displeasure, as if he was trying to see something in her gaze that no one else could. “I don’t know how to say it properly, but . . . you’ve both got determination in you, that sense of purpose and resolve where you don’t care about what others think because your principles matter, that attitude where you say ‘to hell with them, what matters is this.’ And it’s not just that, but there’s also that strong sense of compassion for others, that drive to help for the sake of helping that you two share. Seeing you doing what you do for others, for me . . . it’s like seeing her again in a way.”

He looked away, smiling to himself, and Kirumi had no words to say as she watched the expression—tender, bittersweet, speaking of a lost love, and she had to wonder what she and the rest of the world might have missed when the news broke on television and newspapers about his crimes. It made her realize the three sides of the Ultimate Tennis Pro that most people had yet to see, the sides that she had slowly been uncovering in her bid to help him: the prisoner, the tennis champion, and now the person.

“Ryoma . . .” Kirumi began, but she found herself faltering as she imagined how best to speak right now. Ryoma, however, let out a cordial snicker before she could continue.

“This is why I didn’t like this school at first,” he stated, looking out on the open field with a rueful gaze. “There are a lot of things that just bring me back to the past, not all of them good. But then again, even the good stuff hurts just as much. So I keep trying, in the same way I tried back in prison to forget. I thought I’d done that. I thought I’d thrown it all away just like how I threw away my future, and moved on from what I destroyed and left behind.” He laughed silently again. “Maybe there are simply things that you just can’t move on from, and in the case of people like her . . . it feels like another crime to throw away their memory like that.”

A few more leaves fell from the maple tree above them as they sat in silence once more, the breeze caressing their figures almost soothingly. Kirumi kept observing Ryoma for a moment, but the Ultimate Tennis Pro kept his eyes locked onto the field and beyond, his stare bearing all the heaviness of the world. Kirumi followed his gaze and looked to the field as well, wondering if she could somehow see what he was seeing, and feel what he was feeling. Somehow, she kept coming up short, but such a thought did not deter her.

“The choices we make in the present, for our future and beyond, that is what matters now,” she declared softly. “We move on from things, or we try at least, but we also make sure that when we do so, we move on to something better. And it’s not just emptiness that we go on to, but rather, a brighter horizon that we can work towards as we make up for the negativities of our past and grow from our shortcomings. I’m telling you this, Ryoma, because this is what I want you to believe in. And as for the person you are talking about . . . I feel that she would have liked you to believe so as well.”

The laugh that emanated from Ryoma’s lips was as silent and short as ever, but it was nonetheless still tinged with that same warmth he had displayed a few moments earlier. “She said stuff like that, too,” he remarked, “clinging on to hope more than I ever did, telling me of the heights I can reach if I just kept believing that I could.”

“She’s right, you know?” said Kirumi, smiling at him.

“Maybe.” Ryoma reached into his pocket for another candy cigarette, but seemed to think better of it as he drew his hand away. “I’m sorry, it’s not like me to get all sentimental like this. Maybe we should get back on track with our plans before we stray too far.”

“Oh, of course,” said Kirumi, shifting gears and returning to her dutiful demeanor. “Have you made a decision regarding my proposal?”

“Yeah,” Ryoma muttered in reply. “You can tag along, I guess. It’ll help me feel less awkward with other students around, and like you said, you can make use of the time to be productive as well. It’ll take a bit of getting used to for me, though, and I hope you won’t think that me being all quiet while I’m exercising means that I’m ignoring you.”

“Don’t worry, I understand.”

“Good. So are we gonna start later, or tomorrow?”

“Starting tomorrow should give us both some ample time to prepare,” said Kirumi. “In the meantime, we can lay down our plans for our respective workout regimens.”

“Sure thing.”

As the two of them began discussing their exercise plans, Kirumi took note of everything Ryoma was laying out, making sure to remember each and every detail in order for her to make any improvements that she felt were necessary for Ryoma’s comfort and productivity. Ryoma expressed his wish to start off slow with some cardio and static exercises before transitioning into more physically rigorous workouts. Kirumi began offering examples of other workouts that she had read about in fitness books and articles before, and surprisingly, Ryoma tackled her suggestions with slightly more attention and purpose than usual. While she was thankful for this, Kirumi wondered if their brief talk about that girl from his past had anything to do with it.

When the first bell rang to signal the end of lunchtime, the two of them had managed to piece together a good start. “I will make sure to write everything down and hand you a copy later, should you wish to consult it in private,” Kirumi said as she stood up from the bench, making ready to go back to the academy’s main building. “You are free to make any changes, though if you wish to change the time for it, please let me know beforehand.”

“Sure, though I doubt I’d change the schedule. Four o’clock in the afternoon sounds just fine,” said Ryoma. “Do you want me to just wait for you at the gym? Or do you want to meet up somewhere first so that we can go together?”

“I might arrive earlier or later than you, so I think it would be best if we just meet up at the gymnasium,” replied Kirumi. “I will also bring some fresh towels and other amenities, as well as some sports drinks for you and the other gym goers.”

“Okay, just don’t burden yourself by carrying a lot of stuff, alright? If you need any help carrying it, just come to me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Ryoma jumped off the stone bench and dusted himself off, glancing at the main building in the distance. “Do you still have somewhere to go before you go back?” he asked.

“I might take a detour and check for a few things at the faculty before I go back to the dorms,” said Kirumi. “Aren’t you hungry? If you are, I can prepare a quick meal for you just in case.”

“No need. I’ll be fine for most of the afternoon, thanks.”

“Very well. I hope to see you in class later, Ryoma.”

“I’ll see if I can get myself together by then.”

At that, Ryoma began walking back to the main building in silence. Kirumi, on the other hand, hung back and watched him go. The brief gleam of determination that she had seen in him earlier was now gone, dissipating in the noontime sunlight like mist on a hot day, though not without the hope that it would return. And that was something that Kirumi would have to see for herself come four o’clock tomorrow.

When he was already some distance away, Ryoma stopped in his tracks. He stood there for a moment, unmoving, before turning back to look at Kirumi over his shoulder.

“Isabella."

Kirumi’s brow furrowed with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Pardon?” she asked.

“That was her name,” said Ryoma. “Isabella.”

And with that, he turned away and continued walking back to the main building. Kirumi remained where she were, dwelling on his words and the name he had chosen to share. Above her, the maple tree swayed in the noontime breeze, its faint rustles speaking to her like whispers from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to turn this chapter in before the weekend ends. I don't know when the next one will be considering everything that's been happening recently, but as always, I'll do my best to deliver in two weeks' time. Stay clean and safe, everyone. See you in the next chapter!


	5. Old Sensations

Clad in a white P.E. shirt, his prison bottoms and a pair of white sneakers, Ryoma knew he must look even more comical now more than ever. The chains at his feet could not be helped, and he knew they were bound to draw more attention than he would like at the gymnasium. He stared at his reflection resentfully in the mirror, wondering how it had all come to this. Uncomfortable with the thought of exercising in his prison clothes, he had asked for other types of clothing and footwear from Kirumi, who was more than willing to procure them from the school’s stock of P.E. uniforms for him, and he knew that any second thoughts he had right now were far too late in coming. After all, he had given his word yesterday—and something more.

Long after he had gone back to his dormitory after lunchtime yesterday, Ryoma could not quite forget his exchange with Kirumi, particularly about an old flame. His memories of Isabella Henderson sat at extreme polarities; on the one side, there were the happy times and moments, and on the other, there remained only immense anguish and regret. Both sides stung Ryoma every time he remembered them, and so he had tried his best to bury the memories at the back of his mind, leaving only the emptiness that he often wallowed in.

Yet once again, Kirumi seemed to pierce through even that, mostly without her knowing it—for how could she know indeed, given that he never told anyone else about Isabella after what had happened to him? During their first few conversations, Ryoma had glimpsed in the Ultimate Maid a young woman with a steadfast sense of responsibility and determination, but he had never expected to hear her say words that he had heard in a similar way long ago, directed at him in order to help him overcome his low points—and there were many of them. And through that, Isabella had resurfaced in his mind, like a song once forgotten and now remembered. _Let them laugh,_ Kirumi had said, her words then matching some of the things that Isabella had told him before.

_So what if you’re smaller than any of them? You’re also better than they are. Let them laugh, Ryoma. When you shut them up right after, there is no better feeling in the world._

Ryoma sighed. With his current lot in life, he knew that he had disappointed Isabella as much as he had let down everyone else from his past. He had it all, as both an athlete and as a person, and then it all went down the drain with the blood still on his hands. And yet here he was, wearing fresh clothes, about to work out in the same way he had done as an athlete long ago, as if he was merely a tennis player looking to get his groove back instead of a convict trying to make the most out of whatever time he had left. Whether it would herald a new time in his life or if it would merely be another presage to failure and disappointment remained to be seen, as did the thought of him even deserving any of the positives in it to begin with.

 _Whatever the case, just let them laugh indeed. They always have plenty to laugh about anyway._ Ryoma turned away from the mirror, picked up his duffel bag, and made his way towards today’s fate.

Surprisingly, Kirumi was not yet present when he reached the entrance to the gymnasium, their designated meetup place. Then again, it was not four o'clock yet, and Ryoma knew that Kirumi would easily arrive just as early to prevent him from waiting for too long in case he showed up first. Other students, meanwhile, were scattering throughout the school as the end of the day’s classes came. Ryoma observed them closely, feeling highly exposed without his usual clothes to wear and his beanie to cover his head. A few cast glances at him—no doubt wondering why a short, childlike student with chains on his ankle was hanging out alone outside the gymnasium, he sensed, though very few seemed to look on longer and recognize him for who he actually was now that his appearance was different.

“Ah, you’re here.”

Ryoma looked around as he heard her voice, and his own voice caught in his throat for a moment. Kirumi stood there, sure enough, carrying her own bag of fresh clothes and other necessities, but like him she had shed her maid uniform for the school’s P.E. uniform—a white shirt, white sneakers, and a pair of navy blue shorts. Ryoma had seen her before in similar attire, back when he had walked around the school in the early hours of the morning and witnessed her jogging, but that had been from afar. To see Kirumi like this up close now—tall, graceful, and undeniably _beautiful_ —somehow made him fall silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t wait for too long,” Kirumi said, bowing.

“No, it’s . . .” Ryoma cleared his throat, wondering why he felt discomfited all of a sudden. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. You didn’t take that long.”

“I hope so,” said Kirumi, smiling. “I had a few final errands to take care of, and I brought along some refreshments, like I had promised. If you need any energy drinks, protein shakes, sports drinks or bottled water, just let me know.”

She indicated her tote bag. Ryoma nodded, and then looked at the gym’s entrance. “Well . . . are we gonna get going now?” he asked her.

“If you’re ready,” said Kirumi in reply.

“I am. Let’s go then.”

As it served no purpose for the present time outside of any event that the school holds, only a few students were inside the gymnasium, lounging around on the bleachers and stands as they passed the time talking to one another. However, there were also a number of them who, like Ryoma and Kirumi, seemed to be heading to the exercise room right next to the stage, its doors sitting adjacent to it at the end of the gymnasium. A number of students recognized Kirumi as they saw her, greeting her with a few words or eyeing her due to her attractive appearance. Some of them, on the other hand cast short glances at Ryoma, no doubt intrigued or amused, or somewhere in between.

The exercise room was more spacious than most gyms that Ryoma had visited before—and rightfully so, given how it was made to cater to a large number of Ultimates looking to work out. Sections of it were devoted to certain workout types—treadmills, elliptical machines and exercise bikes for cardio; benches and racks laden with bars, dumbbells and plates for weightlifting; and exercise and yoga mats for flexibility and aerobics. Eyeing everything in silence, Ryoma felt both stirred and skeptical, wondering just how quickly he would burn out amongst the machines and equipment from all his physical and mental rust.

Kirumi spoke up next to him. “The changing rooms are over there. The showers are just beyond. You may go ahead and deposit your things first if you wish. I will just hand out some of these drinks to those who might need them.”

“Sure thing,” Ryoma said in return. “I’ll just meet you back here.”

Given that most of the gym-goers—and there were a surprising few of them, but also well-known ones, as Ryoma noted—were already working out and exercising, the locker rooms were practically devoid of people when he came in to drop off his gear. The cold tiles, steel lockers and long benches were very reminiscent of how high school locker rooms looked, but for Ryoma they gave him a more uncomfortable memory. He glanced at the nearby showers, taking note of how similar they looked to prison showers, and he remembered once again his unsavory experiences during his incarceration. Feeling a slight chill of revulsion and discomfort creeping up his back, he quickly singled out a locker and stuffed his duffel bag inside. By the time he went back out, he was feeling slightly stressed already. He rubbed his eyes wearily, letting the chill run its course.

“E-Excuse me, are you alright?”

Ryoma looked up at the sound of the voice, coming from someone he had not yet met: a tan-skinned girl, shorter than Kirumi, with blue eyes and an athletic, hourglass-shaped figure. Her brown hair was coiffed up in a curled ponytail, and she was wearing a navy blue shirt with matching athletic shorts and grey sneakers. She was looking at Ryoma with a polite but concerned expression.

“Are you okay?” the girl repeated, drawing back a little at his gaze. “I was just passing by when I noticed you a-and . . . ah, what am I saying, I don’t even know who you are yet and here I am, poking my nose into your business. I’m really sorry!” She let out a nervous laugh.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ryoma muttered, heaving a sigh. “Slight headache, that’s all.”

“I see. I hope it’s nothing too serious,” said the girl. At that, she straightened up. “Anyway, I think introductions are in order. I’m Aoi Asahina, the Ultimate Swimmer, from Class 78. But you can call me Hina if you want!”

She held out her hand with an enthusiastic smile. Ryoma took her hand and shook it briefly. “Ryoma Hoshi, from Class 80-A,” he said in return.

“Got it!” Aoi began tracing her right index finger quickly across the palm of her left hand. Ryoma noticed that she was muttering his name under her breath as she was doing so.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Eh? You don’t know?” asked Aoi, looking slightly surprised. “If you wanna remember someone’s name, you gotta write it on your hand three times!”

“I see. . .” Ryoma looked around, wondering it was polite to leave or to continue talking, but at that moment, Aoi suddenly froze in her spot, looking startled.

“W-Wait, ‘Ryoma Hoshi’?” she asked, looking back down at him as she stopped tracing her finger on her palm. “As in, _the_ Ryoma Hoshi? The tennis player?!”

Ryoma sighed inwardly. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replied.

“Aoi, is everything alright?”

The two of them looked up, and Ryoma felt even smaller and more exposed than before as he stared up at the huge and powerful visage of Sakura Ogami. Like Aoi, the Ultimate Martial Artist was in her workout clothes—a white shirt with its sleeves ripped off, a modest pair of black gym shorts, and grey _uwabaki_. The fabric stretched taut over her rippling muscles, her masculine appearance putting even bodybuilders to shame. Her long white hair and reddened dark skin gave her countenance an intimidating, almost bestial aura, and to stand only a few feet from her in person as opposed to seeing her fight on television, Ryoma could feel her intensity emanating almost palpably from her like some sort of force field.

“Oh, hey there, Sakura!” said Aoi, her initial shock at Ryoma’s identity vanishing for a moment as she beamed up at her; standing next to Sakura, she looked like a child herself. “Everything’s fine, I was just . . .”

She gestured towards Ryoma nervously. When she spoke again, her voice was both excited and nervous. “You know Ryoma Hoshi, right?” she asked Sakura. “That big tennis star that they used to show on T.V.?”

“I think ‘big’ isn’t exactly the most fitting term to use,” Ryoma muttered.

“Don’t worry. A man’s value is not in his height,” said Sakura earnestly. “And yes, I’m familiar with you.”

“I could say the same for the Ultimate Martial Artist,” said Ryoma, nodding back.

Aoi giggled a little, looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry if I got too excited there. The thing is, I used to watch your matches back then online. I’m no tennis player, but I know a thing or two about it, and you were a really, _really_ good player. Like, some of my classmates back then were huge fans of yours. I’m sorry if I didn’t recognize you right away, though. It’s just that . . . well, you look a bit different now.”

“A lot of things changed since I last played,” said Ryoma silently. As nice as Aoi seemed, he had no desire to say anything more about his tennis-playing days or his fall from grace. Sakura, on the other hand, regarded him closely.

“It’s good to see you joining us here today,” she said in a surprisingly soft tone, belying her intimidating aura. “Are you alone?”

“No, I came here with Kirumi,” said Ryoma. He nodded towards her in the distance, as she was speaking to some Ultimates and handing out drinks.

“Ah, I see,” said Sakura with a smile as she glanced at Kirumi as well. “You’re in good company, then. Kirumi is quite possibly the most responsible and open-minded individual we’ve met thus far around the academy.”

“She gave us some of our favorite protein shakes a while ago. And on top of that, she always helps us with our post-workout meals if we need it,” Aoi added happily. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her come here to work out, though.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna be working out together,” Ryoma stated. “It’s my first time here as well. Didn’t think I’d do this kind of thing again, but here I am.”

“That’s good!” said Aoi with a smile. “I hope we see you even more around here. It’s always good to stay healthy even when you’re not engaging in your sport, like me and Sakura here!”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” said Ryoma with a nod.

Sakura and Aoi left not long afterwards, expressing their wish to keep exercising in preparation for their swimming and dojo training sessions on the morrow, respectively. Ryoma watched them leave, feeling slightly grateful that he did not have to talk for too long without anything meaningful to say from his end. Kirumi joined him quickly, having finished handing out beverages to the other gym-goers.

“I’m sorry if that took too long,” she said, bowing. “Have you warmed up already?”

“Not really. I was waiting for you,” said Ryoma.

Kirumi nodded again, seemingly ashamed at the idea of making him wait too long. But when she looked at him again, there was a meaningful, almost anticipating gleam beneath her elegant gaze.

“I will just deposit my bag in the locker room, and we can begin,” she said.

“Sure thing,” said Ryoma.

* * *

Silent and focused, the warmups felt like a presage to something portentous as Ryoma stretched and bent, not keen on letting any post-workout strains ruin his body in the coming days regardless of what he would be accomplishing today. Kirumi, on the other hand, was already hard at work pedaling on a nearby exercise bike, intending to let cardio draw first blood for her own workout. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Ryoma saw the makings of a strong frame beneath her graceful and beautiful exterior. He knew that it was a result of her hard work as the Ultimate Maid and even beyond, and he dwelt briefly once again on the stories that Kirumi had mentioned about tangling with undesirables in the past. Given Kirumi’s demeanor and outlook in life, it was safe for Ryoma to say that she had been great deal luckier in her encounters compared to him.

As he finished stretching, he looked around, gauging which machine or routine to tackle first. On one part of the room, Sakura had taken up quite a bit of space on the floor as she did some one-arm push-ups, while Aoi was busy limbering up with some bow extensions adjacent to her. Other students worked on their own as well, lifting what dumbbells or barbells they could, jogging steadily on treadmills, or doing other routines like planking and crunches. Though Ryoma was inclined to follow suit with what he had planned with Kirumi the day before, the presence of other exercise equipment made him want to try other workouts nonetheless.

At that, he eyed the nearby dip stand, sitting some distance away from where the weight racks were. Compared to the pull-up stand next to it, which was out of reach for him, the stand was more accessible and easier to manage. Additionally, it made for an engaging but relatively stationary workout, less conspicuous and taxing compared to lifting weights right off the bat. He picked up a nearby plyometric box, intending to use it as a stepping stool, and made his way to the stand, placing it right in front before climbing up to begin his attempt. As he went, Ryoma could feel stares coming his way, but as he glanced around he saw that no one was paying him any heed at all. Feeling slightly comforted by this, he clambered up the dipping stand, planted his feet against the plyometric box, and grasped the stand’s opposing bars firmly with his hands. Taking a deep breath, he pushed upwards slowly, his arms stretched but not quite locked out, grunting as his feet left the box and his body weight was supported entirely by his hands and arms. With a bit of annoyance, Ryoma noticed how the burn from the strain was different this time around compared to his room exercises—it was difficult, almost painful. _Rusty_ , he said to himself, heaving a sigh.

But it was too late to back out now, he knew. Steadying his swaying feet beneath him, his chains dangling in the air as he bent his knees and locked his legs, Ryoma lowered himself slowly. His elbows shook a little as they bent, but his arms held nonetheless until he reached the ideal spot he was looking for, feeling his triceps and chest stretch. Slowly, he pushed himself upwards again, returning to his starting position.

 _That’s one._ Gauging the feel of the dip, Ryoma remembered for a moment the first time he had done this particular exercise, about how it had tormented his arms for a couple of days afterwards. Now, with his rust evident after months—no, _years_ —of being unable to work out as best as he wanted due to his incarceration, he knew that he was bound to feel that soreness again in the coming days. But surprisingly, instead of making him feel dejected for even trying, his frustration was starting to fuel his desire to keep going, to ace this workout and all the other workouts he would be doing in the next hour or so.

Gritting his teeth, Ryoma dipped again—and again, and again, his mind narrating the number of repetitions he was making like a grim cadence. His arms burned, his chest strained, but he wanted to keep going, slowly but surely, his spirit stirring awake slowly as he went. Old sensations returned to him, bringing back memories of training with his fellow players in some high-end private gymnasium, readying themselves for their next games. The thought of tennis made Ryoma feel a little bitter all over again, but that was merely some extra fuel for the fire right now. And though he was no longer an athlete, it was not an excuse for him to stop with his choice now.

Upon reaching twenty repetitions, Ryoma planted his feet firmly back on the plyometric box, taking in deep, nourishing breaths. His arms still grasped the dip stand’s bars tightly. Droplets of sweat had formed on his arms and face, cooling in the exercise room’s ventilated air, and it felt _good_. That he had reached twenty reps on his first try was nothing short of surprising, and Ryoma found himself wanting more. After a minute-long break, he braced the dip stand again. The repetitions this time were more manageable than before, his grip surer, his core and legs steadier. Ryoma felt determination course through his veins, determination that he thought he would never encounter again. For even as he worked out many times before in the dark confines of his prison cell or within the dreary emptiness of his room in Hope’s Peak, this was an entirely different session altogether. To change his clothes, to go with someone, to do once again what he only vaguely remembered from before, to even try in the first place. Now, with his resentment towards himself taking the back seat for once, the old feelings and sensations were starting to come back, and Ryoma could now dare to keep gauging and feeling them ever so slightly. Small steps, yes, but they were steps nonetheless.

Isabella would have been proud, he knew.

He had finished his third set when Kirumi went up to him, wiping her sweat with a towel, breathing steadily. “Are you doing alright?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” replied Ryoma, his knuckles cracking as he let go of the dip stand and clenched his fist. “Off to a good start, I think.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Kirumi, smiling.

“Didn’t expect it, to be honest. I thought I was just gonna collapse on myself,” said Ryoma. “How about you? What are you gonna be doing?”

“A few aerobics routines, like what Aoi has been doing over there. After that, some static exercises, and then another twenty minutes on the bike again.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll cap off my time here with some cardio as well. I thought of starting with it, but I think it’ll be better if I did it last to limber up one last time. I’ll just join you on the bikes later.”

“Very well. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Ryoma pushed on, trying to identity more workouts that would be viable and more productive, gradually ditching the tame plan he had pitched yesterday. Knowing that mixing up exercises for other body parts would be less effective, he decided to continue focusing on his triceps and chest with other similar workouts after his dips, going by both experience and knowledge as he went. Naturally, it would also not do if he overworked himself with too much weight or movement, thus he resorted for static but energetic workouts in the same vein as his dips. From overhead triceps extensions to triceps pulldowns, from barbell skull crushers to some close-grip push-ups, he felt the rust starting to fall away gradually. His shirt, damp from sweat, was clinging tightly to his body now, reminding him of the familiar sensations of a fierce tennis match where his body just burned with both sweat and tension. Staring in the mirrors on the wall adjacent to the weight racks, he found himself wondering what else to do instead of looking grudgingly at his own reflection. And contrary to what he had been expecting, no one among the gym-goers interrupted his routines with any intrusive stares, nor did they approach him to talk. Once, Sakura even gave him an approving nod after he wrapped up his skull crusher sets, and Aoi would smile cordially at him when he caught her eye during their workouts, but other than that, nothing else came his way to disrupt his focus or make him feel self-conscious.

And above it all, Kirumi never made him feel alone. Though she was doing some workouts of her own, she always exercised nearby, greeting Ryoma after every set with an encouraging smile of her own and a few recommendations regarding other workouts he would like to tackle. Her formal demeanor never left her, but she approached her duty of helping him make the most out of his workout more as a friend and less as a servant. Ryoma responded in like as he guided her with what advice he could about some of her static exercises and her posture, taking the time to explain and demonstrate when needed. The dynamic exchange made him appreciate her company more than ever, seeing as how Kirumi went by his pace most of the time and did not pressure him into making any choices. It made his reservations from the day before about her exercising with him feel rather silly now. And on the other side of his mind, it also brought back more memories of Isabella, who would stand by his side and cheer him on as he went forward, and comforted him if he stumbled, whether it involved tennis or just life in general.

More than an hour in, the two of them sat down on a bench, patting themselves dry with some extra towels Kirumi had brought after finishing their last workouts. Cardio would follow as soon as they were rested, Ryoma knew, giving them a few minutes’ worth of rest to prepare.

“Here,” said Kirumi, handing him a bottle of sports drink from her bag. “A good workout always deserves some refreshment.”

“Thanks.” Ryoma took the bottle and drank eagerly from it, feeling invigorated at its taste. “It’s been a while since I drank stuff like this.”

“Are there any other beverages you would like?” Kirumi asked him. “It would be easy for me to bring you some for lunch or dinner every day.”

“The tea would work just fine for mealtimes,” said Ryoma. “And then bottled water or more sports drinks if we’re gonna be working out like this again.”

“Very well.” Kirumi exhaled with contentment as she sipped from her own bottle of sports drink. “All this exercising, staying in excellent physical condition and whatnot, it brings back memories of my training.”

“I see. Did you train in some company or school or something?”

“Milky Way High School, to be exact. Have you heard of it?”

“I don’t think I have. Was it part of some special extracurricular course?”

“In a way, yes. It was a vocational course, geared towards helping students prepare in advance for a career path that they would like to take in the future. Exceptional students were the only ones who could avail of it, given how taxing it was to juggle between the academic and vocational classes. As for the course itself, it involved technical programs aimed at training the proper skills needed and then applying them in fieldwork for the specified number of hours. Naturally, I took up housekeeping in preparation for being a maid, along with other sub-courses that would help me in my line of duty—caregiving, cosmetology, accounting and auditing, food and beverage management, and office management. It took me more than three years to graduate.”

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. “Some courses last for at least two years, right? You’re telling me you took up all those and graduated after just _three_ years?”

Kirumi laughed modestly. “I would never say it was easy. And at first, I had my doubts on how far I would get, and a few regrets as well. But the desire to devote myself to my chosen career path regardless of the cost or hardship is what kept me going. Even as my superiors were starting to wonder if I can keep up with the workload, I endured through it all.”

Ryoma could only stare as Kirumi finished speaking. _Small wonder she always holds herself up with a lot of self-respect and dignity._ Here was a person who practically crawled her way to the top, relying mostly on her skills and determination to carry herself towards her destination. In comparison to the severely poor choices he made regarding his career and life, he felt very small and insignificant indeed.

“You mentioned having some regrets,” he said after a while.

“Yes,” said Kirumi. “Minor ones, in light of where I am now, but I think about them sometimes. Acquaintances I made back then that I’ve never seen or heard from again, or choices I forgot to make when I was still in training. Things I could have done or addressed better, basically. Many things just change as the years pass, and though I would not trade where I am now for anything, I cannot help but wonder what else I would have seen had I taken a different path at some junction I’ve crossed before, crucial or otherwise.”

“Yeah, you always think of that when you’ve come so far. You just go back, take a good long look at where you’ve been, and think of what you would’ve done different.” Ryoma grunted, taking another gulp from his bottle. “Still, dwelling on all those what-ifs won’t change a thing. It’s better if you just stick with what you’ve got right now, and see if they’ll help you change what’s coming.”

Kirumi smiled. “Precisely.”

Ryoma stared into the distance for a moment, wondering privately how much his philosophy applied to himself. Shaking his head, he drained his bottle of sports drink and wiped his face clean. “Anyway, if you’re ready, let’s go take care of that cardio, eh?” he declared, standing up.

“Ah, of course,” said Kirumi, standing up as well.

Adjustable seats and handlebars gave Ryoma a sense of gratitude and relief as he sat down on his chosen exercise bike. He did not want to imagine how comical he would look trying to pedal with his legs failing to reach below him. However, as he placed his foot on the pedal, he noticed his chains again.

“Ah, damn it,” he muttered, getting down from the bike and looking down at his foot.

“What is it?” asked Kirumi, who was already sitting on her own bike.

“I need to take care of my chains,” he said, motioning towards his ankle. “Don’t want them to get caught in the bike.”

“Oh, I see. Perhaps I can help you with that?” said Kirumi.

Ryoma looked down at his foot again. The chains were thicker than they looked, and too short to wrap around his ankle. He cursed the prison system again for letting them stay there, though he did not want to dwell on that thought for too long lest his first day at the gymnasium end with a bitter instance.

“I don’t know how we can take care of this, to be honest,” he told Kirumi. “And even if I skip out on the bike, it’s the same for everything else—the treadmills, the elliptical, whatever. These chains might trip me or get caught on something.” He sighed, shrugging. “Maybe I should just skip cardio for today.”

“No, it’s alright. I have something that will help you with them,” said Kirumi. “Please wait here.”

Ryoma watched as she made her way to her tote bag again, rummaging in one of its smaller pockets for a moment. When she came back, she was holding a roll of thick brown thread along with a pair of small scissors.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing towards his foot.

“Oh, right,” Ryoma muttered, planting his manacled foot on the exercise bike. With a nod, Kirumi knelt down next to him and began her work. She picked up the end of the chains and wrapped them carefully around his ankle, right above where the metal cuff kept them attached to his foot, careful not to wrap them too tightly. Once this was done, she took some of the brown thread she had brought and rolled out several inches of it, severing it with the scissors. At that, she began tying the thread through the chains in small but tight knots, making them stick in place on the cuff to prevent them from unraveling all over again. Ryoma watched her work in silence, observing how carefully and precisely her fingers moved, as if she was doing surgery. Thankfully, no one around the gym seemed to mind much about what they were doing, even as Ryoma looked around self-consciously to see if anyone was starting to stare.

In under a minute, Kirumi was finished. She stood up straight, looking at her handiwork with approval. “The knots should be able to hold without breaking as long as you pedal at a manageable pace,” she declared. “If it breaks again, I can always make new knots.”

“It should be fine,” Ryoma remarked, shaking his foot a little to test the strength of the thread. “Thanks for that.”

“It was nothing,” said Kirumi with a bow. “I only wish I had thought of it earlier, to be honest.”

“It’s alright,” said Ryoma. “At least I know now to care of them first if I’m ever going to work out again here.”

“Yes, I will keep that in mind as well,” said Kirumi.

As the two of them got back on their bikes, Ryoma felt more at ease as he began to pedal. The absence of clinking sounds from his ankle lessened his self-consciousness further regarding his presence as an incarcerated outsider, easing away his melancholy. Once again, Kirumi succeeded in making him feel as close to feeling at home as possible, and his respect and appreciation for her merely kept growing.

Five minutes into their biking, he decided to strike up a bit of conversation again. “So, do you always bring stuff like that in case of emergencies?” he asked Kirumi.

“Only in preparation for torn clothing and such, though as you’ve seen, it does have its other uses,” said Kirumi, wiping her sweat as she pedaled beside him. “Among all the duties I take up, sewing is one of my personal favorites.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“It is always an engaging task, and one that I needed to focus on quite a bit during my days as a maid-in-training. Admittedly, it is not as complex as cooking, but it requires just as much focus as all the other housekeeping tasks I do. Learning what stitches to use, what threads would work best, things like that. And even then, knowing about these things and applying them are two different things, especially if you’re learning to sew posthaste and with efficiency. I took it as a worthy challenge, and though it took me some time to master, I only grew to love doing it. Now, I never leave for my duties without even a small, personal sewing kit in my pocket, just in case I need to make a few repairs to damaged clothing—but also in case I ever get the time to practice making stitches.”

Ryoma nodded. “I see. That . . . That sounds nice,” he muttered.

Kirumi smiled modestly. “Forgive me. It might not have been the most engaging of topics to talk about.”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t think of it like that,” said Ryoma quickly, wondering if he had aggrieved her in some way.

“But still, it might be too tedious of a thing to discuss,” Kirumi proffered.

“Not really,” Ryoma assured her. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t able to say a lot about it. I just didn’t know what to say other than . . . well, it’s nice to hear you speak like that, you know?”

Kirumi regarded him with her soft gaze for a moment, pedaling slowly. “I’m sorry. I was simply concerned about me going on about it because . . . well, not many people would willingly sit and listen in on the duties and musings of a simple maid,” she said earnestly. “And it is not every day that I get to talk about my experiences like this, let alone with you here in the gymnasium, or even over a cup of tea in your room. It takes some getting used to, especially for someone for whom dutiful silence has always been the norm.”

“But like I said, it’s alright. And it’s pretty admirable, actually.” Ryoma also began slowing down his pedaling, letting his legs get a few seconds of respite. “It’s obvious that you love what you’re doing, and that you put in a lot of effort and skill into achieving it. And the reason you’re talking about it the way you do, with passion and confidence . . . it just goes to show how important it is to you and how much pride you take in it and all that you did.”

“Is that how you see it?”

“Yeah. Even if being a maid doesn’t always seem like a good thing to some people, no one can ever take away that pride and passion in you. So I say, keep talking about your experiences and duties as a maid if you want. I don’t say much, but I feel privileged and thankful all the same that you trust me enough to tell me about them.”

The gleam beneath Kirumi’s eyes was unfathomable, as was the reaction beneath her beautiful features, but the softness of her voice indicated a certain measure of poignant gratitude all the same. “Being acknowledged like this is not one of the things I often expect in my undertakings as a maid,” she admitted, “but nevertheless, I truly appreciate your openness with me. I feel that it is more than what I would deserve.”

“You deserve a lot, to be honest,” said Ryoma. _More than my miserable company,_ he almost added out of habit, but his mindset was on a different wavelength right now, more vocal, more open and more . . . _positive._ “In fact, I should be thanking you, too,” he went on. “For what you’re doing, and for continuing to treat me like a friend, and not like a boss of some sort.”

Kirumi smiled at that, her features glowing, and again Isabella resurfaced in Ryoma’s mind. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you were doing workouts that were different from what we had planned yesterday,” she stated.

Ryoma’s pace at the bike slackened a little again. Kirumi was still smiling, but there was a tinge of curiosity in her tone all the same. He wondered if there was some resentment there as well.

“You saw that, huh? I hope you don’t think that I ignored what you suggested to me yesterday,” he told her.

“Don’t worry, I did not think of it that way,” said Kirumi. “It was a sight to see, to be honest.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, can’t argue with that,” said Ryoma facetiously. “After all, I’m just a rusty guy who’s still got a ways to go.”

“More like an embattled soul who has just started fighting back,” Kirumi said.

Ryoma fell momentarily silent at that, glancing around at Kirumi again as he stopped pedaling. “Do you really see it that way?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” replied Kirumi, stopping with him. “And I truly hope you will be able to keep it up, Ryoma. If I deserve a lot, you deserve many things, too—success, growth, joy. Seize the moment, look to the future, and keep fighting back.”

Ryoma took a deep breath, looking away from her for a moment. Even as the wave of determination he felt had subsided somewhat, and despite the slow start and how often he kept seeing Isabella’s presence some more in Kirumi and everything else that he had undertaken, he still felt rather thankful for how the day had progressed. Indeed, as he looked toward the coming days, he saw hope—a tiny flicker at this point, to be sure, but hope nonetheless, an impossibility that dared to happen against a backdrop of silent suffering and resigned misery that had endured for years now.

“Maybe that’s what Isabella has been trying to tell me all those years,” he said softly, looking back up at Kirumi. “And to have you sitting here repeating her words in some way to me . . . maybe that’s the universe’s way of telling me that there’s still something left for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Kirumi earnestly, “perhaps you can look at it that way.”

Ryoma nodded. “Whatever the case, I’ll just have to see for myself. And if you’re there with me . . . maybe I’ll see it soon enough.”

“Then I will keep doing my very best to help you,” said Kirumi with an amiable smile.

At that, as silence descended upon them, the two of them began to pedal again, picking up the pace to make the most of their last minutes for the day in the exercise room. As he went, Ryoma glanced down again at his manacled foot, his eyes resting upon the knots of thread Kirumi had weaved against his chains and the cuff. It was a simple sight, yet he somehow found it speaking volumes to him all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to edit quite a few scenes in this chapter, from the characters present to the ending itself, hence another delay. Overall, I felt that this was the best way to deliver the chapter without speeding things up in the plot too much or letting it drag. Hit a few snags along the way with some anxiety attacks, but thankfully it all turned out okay.
> 
> Once again, in light with what is happening around the world right now, I hope that wherever you are, wherever you're from, you are doing well. Please stay safe, guys. See you in the next chapter!


	6. Konjac and Liquor

The day seemed like any other ordinary affair as lunchtime progressed, but Kirumi could feel the changes around her as she walked down the corridor, bearing the tray of food with both dutiful purpose and inward enthusiasm. The tantalizing aroma of _nikujaga_ piled upon a small heap of rice kept wafting in her face as she went, keeping her appetite sharp for her own meal later after she had finished with her duties. Next to that was the usual pot of tea that had become a staple of theirs, along with a covered plate that bore a surprise she had brought along from the kitchens. Ryoma was already waiting, she knew, and she was looking forward to having another conversation with him about their next session at the gymnasium together and other things to come. A week had passed since that first of many steps had been taken, and though Ryoma had been understandably reluctant about it, he managed to ease himself into a more focused demeanor that soon began to show in his approach towards her, inspiring Kirumi further. But as pleasant as these developments were, it came with some interesting but nonetheless predictable consequences, particularly from their classmates.

 _I hope he’s doing much better,_ Kaede had said yesterday when she and Kirumi were left behind to arrange a few things at their classroom. _It’s getting tricky to tell the professors why we’re always one student short. If you can, could you please nudge him in the right direction? N-Not that I want you to force him to come to class, of course! It’s just that . . . well, you’re the only one he talks to, so maybe you can drop him a few hints and stuff?_

 _Is Ryoma treating you well, Kirumi?_ Tenko had asked her one time, her eyes shining fiercely like a superhero on the lookout for any wrongdoers. _I don’t trust him enough to be alone with you in his room. That is a surefire degenerate male tactic if I ever saw one. Please allow me to accompany you, so that I can protect you if he makes any dirty move!_

 _That maid outfit’s really working out well for ya, eh?_ Miu had mocked. _Didn’t know you were into shorties like Bakamatsu is, though. Then again, height doesn’t really matter. With a tennis player like him, he’s bound to know a thing or two about playing with balls and getting all sweaty!_

 _I trust that you already know of Ryoma’s past, yes?_ Korekiyo had inquired, his tone having a knowing and rather menacing edge. _Not that I would judge, of course. As terrible as it may be in the standards of society today, his crime evokes one of the most beautiful aspects of humanity. The sheer pain, the anguish, the rage . . . ah, I envy your chance to learn about that firsthand from the person himself._

Naturally, Kirumi spoke none of this to Ryoma during their subsequent meetings. As welcome as his progress was, she sensed how delicate of a mental and emotional state he could still be in, and it would not do to pressure him immediately by telling him of other people’s thoughts about him and the time he was spending with her after showing some form of growth in their encounters and experiences together. Thus far, only Kaede’s words seemed worth sharing, especially since they involved not only her responsibilities in maintaining order and inspiring participation and unity as the class representative, but also Ryoma’s standing as a student. For that, Kirumi made a mental note to do what she had requested and nudge Ryoma a little into coming to class at last.

Ryoma looked almost relieved when he opened the door to her around two minutes later, patting down his head with a towel. “Perfect timing, as usual,” he said. “If you arrived a bit earlier, you would’ve spent a bit of time waiting for me to finish taking a bath.”

Kirumi smiled as she entered his room and set down the tray on the table. “You mentioned _nikujaga_ a while back, so I figured it’d make a nice meal for you today.”

“Yeah, that does sound nice,” said Ryoma with a nod, draping the towel over a vacant chair.

“I brought something new over as well,” Kirumi went on. “A specialty that was prepared by Teruteru from the kitchens.”

With that, she uncovered the plate she had brought. Walking over to the table, Ryoma glanced at the square-shaped pastries she had unveiled. In spite of their ordinary appearance to some, Kirumi found them inviting to look at, with their powdered sugar and light drizzles of chocolate syrup, giving them a rustic feel as if they were afternoon teatime delicacies created by a caring grandmother.

“Something for dessert, eh? Are these donuts or something?” Ryoma asked.

“Beignets,” Kirumi clarified, moving over to her usual spot at the table and pouring out tea for the two of them. “Or at least, that is what Teruteru referred to them as. He prepared them as something of a test, as he intends to add them as a separate option for students at mealtimes. I brought some for us, and I will be returning to him with our feedback afterwards.”

“I see.” Ryoma eyed the pastries for a moment. “I guess we finally have our first cheat day, then?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

“If you wish to call it that. But Teruteru assured me that these are not as decadent as other desserts out there.”

“Well, it won’t be a problem either way. Nothing wrong with indulging in a bit as long as you remember to burn it on your next workout.”

“Ah, so you take your physique seriously like most?”

Ryoma shrugged, glancing down at his body as he sat down to eat. “Not a lot to take seriously, judging by my size and all.”

“On the contrary, one’s body should always be taken seriously,” said Kirumi, “for one’s health and wellbeing, if not one’s form.”

“True. I just prioritize having a healthy lifestyle, that’s all. You won’t see me flexing or preening in front of any mirrors, that’s for sure.”

Kirumi nodded, taking her seat as well. “I’m glad we are on the same wavelength, then,” she said. “It is not just the physical wellbeing that counts, but also the mental focus and emotional fulfillment it brings. For that, a balanced diet and daily exercise is what’s best, with discipline and commitment to temper it all.”

“Exactly.” Ryoma shoved a spoonful of _nikujaga_ and rice in his mouth, nodding his silent approval as he chewed. “Problem is, there are always people who think that their looks or bodies are the only things that matter. They’ll tear themselves apart to get that ideal form in their heads.”

“Are these former acquaintances of yours?” asked Kirumi. “From . . . tennis?”

Though she expected him to dodge the subject somewhat, Ryoma nodded in response. “It comes with being an athlete for some, I guess. When you win games and feel on top of the world, you just wanna be the best at everything you do.” He ate another spoonful of his meal, chewed, swallowed and continued. “You wanna look good, feel good, _be_ good. But sometimes it gets to your head after a while, and you just keep reaching for that standard even if it’s no longer within reach. That’s usually the time that sitting back and reflecting and adjusting your priorities is called for. Keep pushing yourself, and you burn out, but some are too stubborn to realize it soon enough.”

As she took a sip of tea, Kirumi listened closely. That Ryoma was speaking more openly about these kinds of things, even if it bordered more on his personal philosophies rather than his tennis-playing, it showed her more proof of his growing sense of adjustment to his new lifestyle. Kirumi could only wonder how terrible it was to be unable to speak to anyone within the confines of a jail cell, and while Ryoma was more introverted than many, she knew that he cherished the chance to talk about what he wanted to discuss, and she wanted to keep giving him that chance whenever she could. As a maid, it was one of the things that she did not experience often for herself—granted, she had no right to demand a conversation from anyone as she toiled, but she relished the chance the same way Ryoma seemed to.

“Some people live for that standard, though,” she proffered in return. “It is what defines their purpose and determination. Without it, they feel less of a person in some way, as if they have failed what they had pledged to stand up for. That is why they are willing to go the extra mile and more in order to meet that standard and deliver to the best of their capabilities.”

Ryoma nodded, his eyes resting upon her thoughtfully. “Is that how you live and work as the Ultimate Maid?”

Kirumi gave him a modest smile. “I try my best to keep that standard, that figurative bar in front of me at all times, so that I won’t lose sight of it. I keep thinking if I try harder, I will be able to clean up faster, or serve food better, or present more articulate thoughts and advice to those who need it. That bar is always there, and I do what I can to reach it. Should I fail, however, that does not mean I will stop, or that I will dwell on criticizing myself needlessly. I will reflect on my shortcomings and address my mistakes, until the next chance comes along.”

“That’s a meaningful way to think about it,” said Ryoma. “And that’s how you ended up being perfect in your work, right?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘perfect,’” said Kirumi, sitting up straighter. “In spite of the standards I set for myself, it does not mean I always reach for perfection in what I do. Though my title as an Ultimate delivers a sense of guaranteed perfection, I am anything but perfect in my work and as a person. Perfection is a subjective height that is too lofty for anyone to reach, even for us Ultimates.”

“Well, can’t argue with that. Gunning for perfection all the time will only end up making you do worse, especially if you’re not mature enough to know your own limitations and weaknesses.” At that, Ryoma regarded her with curiosity. Swallowing his food, he continued, “When it comes to those, however, it’s hard to guess with someone as skilled as you.”

Kirumi matched his gaze, knowing Ryoma’s knack for figuring things out from a person simply by observing them and wondering what else he could see in her right now. “Again, my skills do not necessarily dispel the fact that I have weaknesses and limitations as well,” she said. “I’m not an all-knowing, perfect maid machine. Like you, I am still a high-schooler, with my fair share of mistakes and messes.”

“I wager that’s something you don’t really get to tell a lot of people,” said Ryoma. “Everyone seems to know only your reputation as an expert maid.”

Sipping some tea, Kirumi had to smile at that. Though Ryoma’s words still made her seem like the best maid out there, it had been a far cry from that when she started, and the feelings that she had experienced then all resurfaced as she dwelt on them. How nervous she been, how calculated every move was for the tasks she undertook, how intimidating the people had been at first—all distant memories considering where she was now, but fond ones nonetheless, the kind that stayed with a person after all this time because of how profound they were.

“That may be true,” she said, “but I do not keep quiet about these things to hide my shame. In fact, it is something that I would be more than willing to share, to let people know that I am no perfect worker or person.” She paused for a moment, going through her experiences in silence until she remembered one of the few that stood out most to her, and she felt compelled to share it now.

“For instance, there was this one businessman I served back when I had just graduated from Milky Way. He was one of my first clients. I cannot share his name, since I am bound by the rule of confidentiality with my clients even after I leave their employ, but his name is still well-known and highly respected even today. When we started out together, he was brimming with ambition and talent, and I knew that he would become famous, so I did everything I could for him. I took care of his daily needs, and gave him advice whenever he needed it. If he was busy with other things, I would be his secretary and voice, giving orders to his employees and managing directives across his enterprise. His company steadily grew, outpacing others like it, and he became a model for those looking to be successful.”

“Sounds like an ideal scenario, and an excellent start for you,” said Ryoma.

“Mostly, but things didn’t turn out wholly good,” said Kirumi, letting out a small sigh as she recalled the experience in her head. “You see, he eventually became unable to do anything by himself.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ryoma.

“I pampered him and provided for him too much, to the point where he was unable to make any decisions or take any initiatives without my help. I had thought that by helping him with any and every responsibility, I would be doing him many favors in his undertakings, but I failed to realize that I was simply coddling him without letting him maximize his potential, or even put it to use. He was reduced to a figurehead, someone who was garnering all the praise without doing most of the work, and he did not want that. He cried to me, and felt ashamed that he had relied on me too much to the point where it felt like he had betrayed the company. He wanted to grow it through his own hand as well, but the comfort and convenience of my services made him forget. And I . . . I knew that I had a hand in making that happen as well. I only thought of my own actions and standards, of my own sense of fulfillment, and I worked without consulting his thoughts or feelings.”

As she finished speaking, Ryoma’s gaze seemed contemplative as he took in her words. “So that’s why you told me all those things before,” he said after a while. “About asking me what I think, or if it feels like you’re just imposing your help upon me without knowing first how I might feel about it.”

“Yes,” said Kirumi in reply. “That experience with my employer helped me reevaluate myself as a maid, as well as my principle of selfless devotion. From then on, I knew that if I was to help any of my future employers, I would make sure to do my duties for their growth and success instead of my own standards and fulfillment. I vowed to never make the same mistake twice.”

“And I’m sure it never happened again,” Ryoma added.

“Yes,” said Kirumi. “Although . . . there is one other weakness I have yet to conquer.”

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. “Really? That sounds like a big one if you’re unable to curb it. What is it?”

Kirumi shifted slightly in her seat, feeling a twinge of shame creeping up her back as she remembered. She set her cup down and cleared her throat for a moment.

“K-Konjac,” she muttered.

Ryoma frowned. “What?”

“Konjac,” Kirumi repeated. “I cannot cut konjac. . .”

As she spoke, the mental image of a konjac corm flitted past her mind’s eye, eliciting a sigh from her. She remembered the first time she had encountered it during her culinary training, when they were tasked to prepare either a meal or a dessert with the ingredients they were given as their instructors graded them based on their working time and resulting effort. While some would find the image of a gelatinous grey block dotted with black spots rather ordinary, Kirumi knew she would never live down the mental block that it had given her, sitting there on the chopping board before her waiting to be cut and sliced. It was as if the block itself was enchanted by some unseen force, shutting out any thought in her head.

Almost unbidden, she remembered her instructor’s mild surprise at her hesitation then, as she stood beside her while she stared dumbfounded at the konjac slab, her kitchen knife trembling in her hand.

_Ms. Tojo, what is it? Is there a problem?_

_Ah, n-nothing’s wrong, ma’am. I’m just . . . thinking._

But try as she might, Kirumi found no earthly idea as to how she could properly prepare the vegetable, turning in what would become her lone meager effort during her vocational years at Milky Way Academy; going by the konjac’s slightly salty taste, she had decided to cut it into very simple strips and stir-fry it in a soy-based sauce with the other vegetables she had been given. A safe and fair dish, to be sure, though it was also a far cry from the top-quality viands she had made before. Though she garnered high marks for her work, the experience haunted her all throughout her subsequent experiences whenever she stumbled across recipes that featured the infamous ingredient and its other variations, which included konjac noodles and its original, yam-like form.

“You might have encountered konjac before, but it is something I never learned to use properly in any of my dishes,” she continued with an air of shame. “I never really figured out the most satisfactory way to cut it and prepare it as a meal, and it haunts me to this day.”

As she finished speaking, she looked upon Ryoma fleetingly, taking in a deep breath as she let her shame hang in the air like a veil between them. Ryoma, on the other hand, still had that same thoughtful frown on his face.

At last, he spoke up. “I . . . didn’t know you had a weakness like that.”

Kirumi managed to give him a shamefaced smile. “It’s rather asinine, isn’t it? That with all the experience and skill that so many people see in me, I cannot cut a simple vegetable regardless of its form.”

“No, no. It’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Ryoma. “It’s actually pretty understandable. Surprising, but understandable.”

“Perhaps for you, it is. But as a maid whose duties involve cooking, it can be rather embarrassing. . .” said Kirumi.

“But doesn’t that prove your own words correct? That in spite of your skills, you’re still just a high-schooler who's learning and growing?” asked Ryoma. “There’s nothing wrong with having a weakness like that. We all have one, no matter how trivial it can be for each and every one of us. It’s up to you to learn how to beat them eventually. That’s how it was for me, at least in . . .”

He paused for a moment, his features growing heavy. But with a small sigh, he held his head up. “That’s how it was in tennis,” he finished silently. “That’s where I found _my_ weakness.”

Surprised, Kirumi sat up straighter. She took note of his willingness to mention tennis again, though it was this sudden admission that piqued her curiosity a bit more. Then again, Ryoma’s gaze could mean anything, for some reason she immediately thought of Isabella, the girl he had talked about a few times before.

“And what is the weakness of the famed Ryoma Hoshi, then?” she asked instead with an air of amusement, intending to aid a bit of levity to the conversation with her manner of asking. Thankfully, Ryoma took it as such as he chuckled softly.

“Alcohol,” he replied.

Kirumi paused for a moment, surprised. In spite of her guess, she felt her curiosity rise even more nonetheless. “Liquor, you mean?”

“Yeah,” said Ryoma. “I learned how bad it was the hard way with my old tennis mates.”

As Kirumi listened, a mental image of Ryoma being drunk flitted across her mind, and she felt the corners of her lips crinkle in a fleeting smile. “That must have been quite an experience,” she said, pretending to scratch the corner of her mouth to hide her expression.

“Definitely,” replied Ryoma. “It’s just one of those times when you can’t help but act like hyperactive teenagers. The thing is, back when we were training or competing, the guys would always bring some drinks to unwind and have a bit of fun. After one of our training sessions, a few of them decided that it was time to level up and snuck in an entire crate full of them at the training center, mixing them together into these weird cocktails with fruit juices or something. Typical high school stuff that a bunch of guys would do. Anyway, our coaches were still in the building, and we were all still underage, so to avoid suspicion and to stop anyone from tattling, they said it was vegetable juice.”

He grunted, shaking his head. "One whiff from the glasses and you'll know it was anything but vegetable juice. Anyway, it was my first time drinking, and I managed to down four full glasses before I started stumbling around. Everyone else began laughing and calling me lightweight and stuff, but with how drunk I got, I didn't even care. My stomach was just churning like crazy, and my head felt like it weighed a ton. After that, it just got worse. It's like dying in some way, to be honest. How I managed to leave the training center and go back to my apartment without collapsing or vomiting my guts out, I'll never know. Couldn't come in the next day, not without trying to endure the feeling of having your head being split in two and your throat being parched as hell."

He laughed a little more at that, and at that Kirumi could no longer hide her smile at his surprisingly candid demeanor. Their mirth was a silent one, not as lively as some would expect it, but she felt its warmth all the same, and once again she appreciated Ryoma’s openness with her as well as his effort to distract her from her embarrassment by narrating a story of his own.

“So yeah, don’t feel too bad if you have some sort of weakness that seems trivial,” Ryoma went on. “You’ll learn to beat it eventually, though in my case I doubt I’ll ever get around to drinking again.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to enjoy a lighter drink when the time comes,” said Kirumi. “Red wine is always a good vintage for comfort drinking, alone or with someone.”

Ryoma grunted through a mouthful of rice. “You sound like someone who’s a bit partial with red wine.”

Kirumi let out a soft laugh. “Just something I picked up from some of my former employers. They’d give me gifts in the form of food and wine sometimes. That’s how I learned to like red wine.”

“It does suit you,” said Ryoma. “With your formal air and all.”

“Perhaps in the future, we can share a bottle or two, if you’ll have it,” Kirumi proffered lightly.

Ryoma chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Teruteru’s “beignets” tasted like the pleasant surprise they were, even after the pot of tea had been emptied and Ryoma had finished eating his _nikujaga_. The pastries were both light and decadent, with just the right amount of sweetness to entice another bite from them. All of them had fillings of various flavors, such as strawberry and blueberry, though Kirumi remembered Teruteru calling them “fraise” and “myrtille,” no doubt to accentuate their formal appearance and making. Nevertheless, she found herself enjoying them, and even Ryoma gave an approving nod as he tasted one for himself.

“That was a nice way to wrap things up,” he commented once they had finished the plate. “Though in your case, wouldn’t it be weird for you to eat your dessert _before_ your actual meal?”

“It is no problem,” said Kirumi modestly as she began piling up the used dishware in preparation for her trip back to the kitchens. “The beignets would keep me filled for a little while longer before I eat lunch.”

“But those beignets aren’t always at hand every day,” said Ryoma.

“Well, it cannot be helped. And given the number of Ultimates who require my services around here during mealtimes, it just takes getting used to,” replied Kirumi. She glanced at Ryoma, who looked serious now, and she added hastily, “Again, it’s not much of a problem. I do eat in the end. That’s what’s important.”

“Maybe, but . . .” Ryoma shook his head, sighing. “I don’t want you getting too hungry just because you have to wait on me first. That’s why I . . .”

But instead of continuing, his words faltered somewhat. As she finished arranging the dishes on her tray, Kirumi looked up. “Yes?”

Ryoma hesitated visibly for a moment, looking away. His sudden nervousness began tugging at Kirumi’s curiosity even further, but instead of continuing, he stood up and walked over to the nearby dresser, opening it and taking out a large brown paper bag. In complete silence, with the sound of his chains rattling against the floor as he walked, he moved over to Kirumi and handed her the paper bag with both hands, as if it was an offering of some sort. Kirumi took the bag from him, feeling even more surprised and curious now, and peeked inside.

To her surprise, there were small packs of pastries and teabags inside. Oolong tea and wheat biscuits, ginger tea and vanilla cupcakes, chamomile tea and chocolate cookies, the mixtures were varied as well. It was not exactly the kind of fare that one would go for with the presence of the school’s cafeteria and the filling meals they have there, but Kirumi liked them all the same, especially the tea.

“Just something I bought from the convenience store,” Ryoma spoke up. Kirumi glanced back at him and saw that he was still avoiding her gaze for some reason. “If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of choosing for you since I didn’t know what you’d like and all. . .”

Closing the paper bag, Kirumi clutched at it with her gloved hands. “Ryoma, I . . . You didn’t have to get me this,” she said.

Ryoma waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s fine. You’ve been doing a lot for me, more than you’ll ever know, and this is the least I can do to express my gratitude for that.”

“But you do know that—”

“That your duties don’t require people to give you anything in return. I know that. But trust me; with all the help you’ve been giving me, you really deserve a gift. And I wish I could give you more, to be honest. The food might not be up to par.”

“No, this is . . . this is just fine.” Again, Kirumi glanced down at the paper bag before letting her gaze return to Ryoma. It was not that she did not like the gift; on the contrary, a feeling of warmth tugged at her chest, putting her at a loss for words. It was not the first time she had received something from the people she had helped and served before, but given how Ryoma had little to give compared to her former, richer employers and still took it upon himself to buy her something for her help, she could not find the right way to express her appreciation.

“Thank you, Ryoma,” she managed to say, bowing her head in modest gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” Ryoma grunted back, busying himself with a candy cigarette from his pocket. When he dared to look back at her, their eyes met briefly for a moment, and he smiled a little in spite of his continuing discomfiture. Kirumi returned his smile earnestly, basking in the warmth that grew within her. That Ryoma was taking small steps made her happy enough, but the fact that he was taking them alongside her, always inviting her in as a friend and not just as a mere helper, was something more. And the more stories they shared, the more she imagined glimpsing more of who he used to be.

When she was about to leave, however, she remembered Kaede’s concerns from their previous encounter. She hesitated before leaving, wondering how best to go about it now that she recalled what else she needed to do. Granted, the growing cordiality between her and Ryoma was pleasant, but she wondered if it could be derailed by a wayward word if she was not careful in expressing Kaede’s wishes.

Noticing that she had fallen silent, Ryoma asked, “What’s wrong?”

Kirumi sighed, placing her hands neatly atop her lap. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she replied. “I spoke to Kaede again. She was . . . concerned about you.”

Ryoma’s expression was difficult to decipher now, even as his gaze seemed plain in Kirumi’s eyes. Taking the candy cigarette from his lips, he muttered, “This is about my continuing absence in class, isn’t it?”

Sitting up straighter, Kirumi nodded. Ryoma heaved a sigh at that.

“I’ve been thinking about it, too,” he said quietly. “And to be honest, I’m wondering why no one’s come to my room yet demanding to know why I’m not attending any classes. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from the ethics committee like Kiyotaka burst through my door out of nowhere bearing a notice of my expulsion.”

“Absences do not necessarily merit expulsion,” Kirumi assured him, worrying that his seriousness now indicated that his spirits were deflating. Still, there was no choice but to press on now that the topic was at hand. “Ultimates are not strictly required to go to class, provided they put their talent to use outside of it, right? I mean, in our own class, Rantaro and Korekiyo take a few days off to venture abroad, as their talents require.”

“But I’m not exactly in any shape, physical or mental, to play any tennis,” declared Ryoma.

“Yes, but you are keeping yourself in good physical condition with me through our exercise sessions at the gymnasium,” Kirumi countered. “That counts for something, I am sure. Besides, not all athletes across the school are able to put their talents to frequent use. Tenko merely trains in the dojo with Sakura, while Aoi goes for swimming sessions only a few times every month. They are not competing in any sort of competition. You would be no different from them, whether you play tennis or not. What Kaede is asking is that . . . if you could start coming to class more, while also exercising after classes with me, it would reflect on your record that you are making the most out of your time here as an Ultimate along with the rest of us, and it would help put her mind at rest as our class representative.”

Ryoma sighed, looking out the windows of his room. The faint rays of sunshine that seeped in cast shadows on his youthful face, making him look a lot older than he was. Kirumi waited patiently for his reply, not wanting to impose any direct, compelling order to persuade him. If push came to shove, she would simply have to find a way to explain his delicate situation more with their professors.

At last, Ryoma spoke up again. “I’ll think about it. It’d be downright disrespectful for me to put you or Kaede or anyone else in trouble just because I’m absent all the time. I just need a bit more time to condition myself for it, I guess.”

“I understand,” said Kirumi. “I shall talk to Kaede as well and inform her of your thoughts. For what it’s worth, though . . . I do hope that you will join us in class soon, Ryoma. Not just for the lessons and all, but for the sense of unity and kinship that it brings. You don’t have to be a pariah any longer. In here, with us, you are welcome and accepted.”

Ryoma looked down, his gaze heavy. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Knowing that there were no more words to say about the matter for now, Kirumi bowed and stood up, picking up her tray of used dishes with one hand and clutching at the paper bag of food Ryoma had given her with the other.

“Again, thank you for this,” she told him, indicating the paper bag. “And thank you as well for your company and time.”

Ryoma grunted with amusement as he leaned back against his chair. “You’re welcome, but truth be told, I’m the one who should be thanking you for that. Just make sure you eat on time after this, alright? I’ll just rest for a bit. Need to get my thoughts in place.”

“I will, thank you. Do take care,” said Kirumi, privately wishing that she had not just caused some form of turmoil for him. With a final bow, she took her leave and made her way out of his room.

* * *

The next morning, around fifteen minutes before their first class, Class 80-A felt the same as ever with their usual interactions and antics. From where she stood next to her seat close to the windows, giving her a full view of the class in silence, Kirumi kept worrying about how her visit yesterday had ended. Immediately, she had told Kaede about Ryoma’s willingness to mull on things a little more, and like her Kaede took the news as an indication that Ryoma was starting to change his mind. Still, if Ryoma’s absence at breakfast earlier was any indication, Kirumi sensed that she may have caused more trouble for him than she had wanted. Privately, she reprimanded herself, not for the first time since yesterday, about being unable to approach him in the best way possible about it.

Seemingly noticing her inner conflict, Kaede approached her. “Kirumi? Are you okay?” she asked her.

“Yes, I am,” said Kirumi, bowing. “Forgive me. I was just thinking about something. . .”

Kaede looked at her rather worriedly. “It’s Ryoma, isn’t it?”

Kirumi straightened up with a small, earnest sigh. “Yes. I fear that I might have made him overthink yesterday when I relayed your message to him.”

“I see.” Kaede sighed as well, shaking her head. “Don’t worry too much about it, Kirumi. It’s partly my fault, since I asked you to talk to him.”

“No, it still falls under how I approached him yesterday,” said Kirumi. “I know that I could have gone about it better, but with how our conversation went at first, and how he seemed to be at ease, I . . . didn’t want to ruin that for him.” And as she spoke these words, Kirumi remembered the story she had told Ryoma, about how she had promised to never disregard the feelings of the person she was helping. She feared now that she might have committed the same mistake twice by not acknowledging the full possible extent of her approach before breaking the notion to him.

In spite of herself and Kirumi’s worry, Kaede smiled at her, as if to change tack and distract from the impending heaviness. “As reserved as Ryoma is, it’s nice to see that you two are getting along better as the weeks pass.”

Kirumi looked at her earnestly. “Do you think so?”

“Yep! It’s easy to see with how comfortable and at ease you were when you came from your last visit to him.” Kaede’s smile grew wider, making her eyes twinkle. “That’s how I sensed that if anyone could talk to Ryoma freely and get him to listen, it’s you. And to see you two doing nicely together, it’s pretty heartwarming.”

Kirumi nodded. “Be that as it may, please do not think of it in any other way,” she reminded Kaede. “I am simply doing what I can to help Ryoma get back on his feet. Not merely as the Ultimate Maid, but as his friend as well.”

“Uh-huh, right,” said Kaede with a wink. “That’s where it all starts.”

Kirumi smiled modestly. “I take it that’s how it started for you and Shuichi?”

In an instant, Kaede’s cheeks turned pink, and her smile faded as it gave way to sudden embarrassment. “H-Hey, it’s not like that, okay?” she stammered. “I’m just . . . d-doing what you’re doing with Ryoma, helping him become better as a detective and as a student, that’s all!”

As she blurted out these words, she cast a nervous glance at Shuichi, who was being cornered into another pep talk session with Kaito and Maki at one corner of the classroom, his hat draped over his eyes in an attempt to hide his nervousness. Kirumi smiled again, amused. As excellent as Kaede was in being a leader and a student, Kirumi knew that her friendship and growing closeness with Shuichi was something that she could never hide from her and the others even if her life depended on it.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with that,” she told Kaede, taking the sting out of the predicament she put her in. “With your friendship and help, I’m sure Shuichi will learn to be more assertive and confident in his abilities.”

Her cheeks still flushed, Kaede glanced back at her. “Y-Yeah, I hope so,” she managed to say in return, smiling back.

At that moment, the door of their classroom opened, drawing everyone’s attention for a moment. Kirumi and Kaede both straightened up, expecting to see their first professor for the morning coming in, but the sudden hush that fell upon the room made the two of them glance at the door.

Ryoma looked the same as ever in his leather jacket, prison bottoms and pointy-eared beanie. He looked around the room as he stood in the doorway, his round eyes half-lidded with a mixture of seriousness and resignation. Everyone else inside the classroom could only stare at him in silence for a few moments, as if digesting the fact that, at long last, Ryoma Hoshi had joined their morning classes officially for the first time. From where she stood, Kirumi felt surprise course through her like a small jolt of electricity.

Kaede was the first to break the silence. “R-Ryoma!” she exclaimed, the shock on her face now replaced with relief and elation as she hurried towards him.

Ryoma took the candy cigarette from his lips. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked.

“Late? No,” said Kokichi from where he sat on the teacher’s desk, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “Lost? Maybe.”

“No, you’re definitely at the right place,” said Kaede, shooting a glare at Kokichi before rounding on Ryoma again. “It . . . It’s good to see you joining us this morning.”

Ryoma nodded, his gaze sweeping through the room again in silence as he walked inside. Slowly, his spell was broken on Class 80-A, but even as Miu jeered at him for making such a dramatic entrance and Gonta vocally expressed his joy at his arrival, as Angie praised Atua for guiding him back to them and Tenko acknowledged him with a leer and some grudging words of welcome, he simply strode to his seat at the back of the room. Kirumi watched him go, trying to decipher in her mind how Ryoma could have come to the decision to finally join them in class, but there seemed to be little point in guessing, as she knew that she would find out from him eventually anyway.

As if he felt her gaze upon her, Ryoma over to where she stood, their gazes locking briefly for a moment. He nodded at her, and Kirumi found herself smiling in return. The hoots and laughter now resounded louder throughout the classroom as some of their classmates took note of this brief interaction, no doubt fueling the rumors that some of them were starting to harbor at their hinted companionship, but those rumors would simply have to stand for the moment. For Kirumi, the sole thing that mattered right now was the biggest step Ryoma had taken thus far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be uploaded half a day sooner, but I wrapped up its edits at 4 A.M. and I was just too blitzed out of my mind to upload it afterwards without possibly messing something up because I was really tired already. And I apologize for the month-long delay again; I wrote this alongside a chapter for my DDLC fanfic on FFN. Everything was going well until writer's block just happened out of nowhere, and all progress bogged down for a week. Anyway, I hope it delivers a good read for you guys. Take care, and keep safe!


	7. The Chances We Take

Since that morning, Ryoma knew that the changes were coming, whether he would like them or not.

All things considered, though, it was not all bad. Though he expected to be barraged with questions from professors about his previous absences, no such incidents happened yet. In fact, the professors did not seem to mind his presence now that he had returned to attend classes more diligently, and he wondered if Kirumi somehow had anything to do with that. And in class, Kaede, Shuichi, Gonta, Keebo and Rantaro Amami talked to him when they could, if only to ask how he was doing. Ryoma responded as best as he could to them, not wanting to sound too reserved or even defensive, though the experience did take some getting used to.

But of course, there were hints of other things that made him feel very self-conscious and wary. Kaito Momota had not yet approached him out of nowhere to give him a pep talk, but Ryoma could sense his glances coming his way whenever he passed him by in class, indicating just how Kaito was raring to ask him again about his current state and his tennis-playing days. And there were those who approached him out of hand as well, such as Angie Yonaga with her flowery rhetoric about her deity Atua and Miu Iruma with her off-color and vulgar nastiness.

Today, as he entered the classroom for their first morning class, he saw that more than half the class was still absent; only Rantaro, Keebo, Miu, Gonta, Angie and Korekiyo were present, idling around as they waited for the rest to arrive. Ryoma walked in silently, anticipating that someone would begin coming up to him soon enough. Indeed, he had barely reached his chair before he was badgered already by Miu.

“You look all runty-disgruntly again, shortstop!” the Ultimate Inventor said from where she sat, her icy blue eyes twinkling with manic glee. “Did you wake up with a wet dipey this morning or what?”

From where she sat praying in utter silence, Angie kept her eyes closed and her lips crossed into a small smile, while Korekiyo shook his head with disdain, flipping through the pages of his notebook as he continued reading. Like him, Rantaro was also reading at one end of the classroom, though he cast a curious sideways glance at the confrontation nonetheless. Keebo looked over at Ryoma apologetically, as if wordlessly imploring him to excuse Miu’s standoffish demeanor this early in the morning, while Gonta watched the scene unfold with an innocently puzzled expression. Meanwhile, Ryoma merely chewed on his candy cigarette as he leaned back against his chair; from what he had experienced before, abrasive people like Miu were best countered through stoic silence.

Miu frowned. “Well? Aren’t you gonna say anything, you lil’ pointy-eared pleb? Or are you too busy trying to daydream about my tits?”

At that, Keebo approached Miu and said, “Miu, it might be too early to bother Ryoma—or anyone—like this. . .”

“Ah, so what? The lil’ runt could use the wakeup call,” said Miu, laughing. “Always showing up to class with that look on his face like he failed to wake up with a fucking stiffy this morning.”

“Hey now, let’s not start the day with anything too obnoxious, alright?” said Rantaro in a defusing tone, looking up from the travel catalogue he was reading. “We don’t want Kaede starting her day by getting riled up again.”

“Pfft. Dudes should just shut up and take their fucking licks!” Miu scoffed, crossing her legs and flaunting more of the black straps on her legs and her knee-high leather boots. “And since when were you so concerned with Miss Dumpy Tits, ya simpy avocado?”

Rantaro merely chuckled at that. “That’s a new one,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed. “Anyway, it’s just that Kaede’s been really working hard recently, and it’d be nice if we don’t add to her problems by bickering too much whenever she’s not around yet.”

“Ah, if Bakamatsu’s working _hard_ , it probably just has something to do with the beta of all betas, and trust me, it seems like she and Pooichi are working _real_ hard from the looks of it. I mean, have you seen the way they look at each other? Are we sure that they’re not in some broom closet every morning just f—”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be making up assumptions like that, Miu,” said Keebo, his facial features conveying reproach and a bit of discomfiture now.

"Ah, fuck that! I'm Miu fuckin' Iruma and I'll say whatever I goddamn fuckin' want!" Miu snapped.

Keebo drew back rather anxiously, as if he was trying to wonder what else he could say to rein in Miu posthaste. “Perhaps, but there are always better things to say, right?” he said. “If you’d like, we can discuss our . . . ah, our plans f-for later instead?”

At that, all bravado and daring seemed to drain from Miu’s face, to be replaced by indignation. Dropping her arrogance, she looked at Keebo with a mixture of petulance and embarrassment. “H-Hey, we had a deal, right? I thought we agreed never to tell anyone anything about . . . _t-that_?!” she stammered.

Looking as if he had boxed himself into a corner, Keebo opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemingly failed him as Miu suddenly began to blush, worsening his own discomfiture. As Ryoma observed them in silence, he felt a bit of amusement well up in him as he wondered who looked more nervous and embarrassed between the two of them at the moment. Rantaro, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows in surprise and leaned forward.

“What’s this now? That sounds like a date right there,” he quipped.

“Ah, no! It’s nothing of the sort!” Keebo exclaimed. “M-Miu is just helping me with—”

But quite suddenly, Miu stood up and hurried out of the classroom, her face now beet-red underneath her strawberry blonde hair. Looking even more agitated now, Keebo excused himself with a bow and rushed after her, his metallic feet clanking against the floor as he ran. Angie, Gonta and Korekiyo stared at them as they went, looking mildly surprised.

“That took an interesting turn,” Rantaro said with a facetious tone after a while. He looked over at Ryoma, chuckling again. “Anyway, don’t sweat it too much, Ryoma,” he told him. “I know it goes without saying, but encountering Miu every morning just takes some getting used to. Same deal with the likes of Kokichi and Tenko, and Angie as well,” he added in an undertone, glancing over at Angie nearby. “Once you get used to the threats, insults, sermons and jokes, it’s all good.”

Ryoma grunted, marveling a little at how laid-back Rantaro sounded despite the dysfunctional nature of their class. “It’s fine,” he said. “You seem to be taking it pretty well, too.”

“Well, when you’ve got twelve little sisters who love to bicker and play jokes on you and each other, you just get used to a scenario like this,” said Rantaro lightly. “Makes me feel more at home, to be honest, what with being away from my folks all the time.”

“I suppose so. Being the Ultimate Adventurer doesn’t sound easy.”

“It has its pros. You get to see a lot of the world and meet a whole bunch of people, and it’s all quite an experience. But being at home with your family is something you can never forget, and you just miss them when you’re out at sea or in another country by yourself.”

Ryoma could only nod at that. From the way Rantaro spoke about family, it was obvious just how close he was with them, and he found himself hearkening back to his memories of his own parents and siblings as well—all distant memories now after where he had been. Sorrow and bitterness tugged at his heart briefly, though Ryoma knew Rantaro could hardly be faulted for that; no one else knew about it other than him, after all.

“Anyway, I’m sure I’ve said it around a hundred times already, but I’m really glad you’re spending a lot more time with us now, Ryoma,” Rantaro went on. “At least you can start enjoying the things that you’ve been missing out on. The others will get you accustomed to it all in no time.”

Again, Ryoma nodded, feeling the heaviness in him fade somewhat. “I can only hope so,” he muttered in reply. “Thanks.”

Rantaro grinned, turning back to his travel catalogue and reading in silence once again. Looking outside the windows of their classroom, Ryoma let out a quiet sigh, trying to remember the faces he had almost forgotten now as his gaze rested upon the distorted reflections upon the windowpanes. Only Isabella’s amber-eyed visage seemed to stare back at him, bathed in the morning sun as it seeped through the glass.

Kirumi arrived with Kaede, Shuichi, Kaito and Maki shortly after, with Kaede holding a small stack of what appeared to be pamphlets in her hands. Ryoma looked up as soon as he noticed Kirumi enter the room with the others; as if on instinct, Kirumi glanced over at his seat in return, smiling when she saw that he had already shown up. Ryoma could only nod back. The two of them rarely interacted in class, but whenever they met up for their afternoon workouts at the gym and for lunch—which Ryoma still had in the privacy of his dorm room—they talked to their hearts’ content, away from the rumors that were starting to surround their growing closeness. Ever since he had taken her up on her wish to have him attend classes more, Kirumi seemed happier and more genial, and Ryoma was pleased to know that if anything, at least his renewed presence in their class helped put her worries about him and her duties at ease.

Kaede moved up to the teacher’s desk and placed the pamphlets there. “We’re still short a few people, huh?” she said, looking around at the class.

“Ooh, pamphlets!” said Angie, who had just finished praying. “We used to distribute pamphlets like those outside my island, but Atua became displeased when people just started littering with them.”

“Those look important,” said Korekiyo from where he sat. “What are they about?”

“It’s for the first upcoming school event,” said Shuichi in reply, standing some distance away from Kaede, his pale face contrasting noticeably with his dark hair and hat. “Kaede will explain everything in a moment. We just have to wait for the others first.”

“Wait, didn’t Miu and Keebo show up early, too?” asked Kaede. “Where are they?”

“Something . . . happened,” said Rantaro, laughing a little. “They should be back soon, though."

Kaede sighed, as if the vagueness of Rantaro’s reply was already enough to convey anything involving Miu. “Alright, let’s just wait for them. I’ll brief you guys on this once we’re all here. I just hope Kokichi doesn’t show up late intentionally. . .”

Thankfully, Kokichi arrived not long after Tenko, Tsumugi and Himiko did. Keebo and Miu showed up last, embarrassment still evident on both of their faces. Before Kokichi could say anything to tease them about this noticeable development, however, Kaede beat him to the punch. She began explaining what the pamphlets were once everyone had taken one from the table.

“Preparatory evaluations?” asked Tenko. “You mean, about our talents?”

“Yes,” replied Kaede as the rest of the class stared at her, some with anticipation, others with apprehension. “Basically, we’ll be doing these preparatory evaluations before the major practical exam on September. The pamphlets show the schedule we’ll be following as well as the guidelines for how everything will go. I’ve read a bit about it, and apparently the evaluations are done during school festivals where students are encouraged to participate and demonstrate their talents. Teachers are gonna be going around assessing things, and students are free to watch and explore as well.”

“That actually sounds pretty fun,” said Kaito. “If there’s any reason for us to start doing our best, it’ll be this.”

“But wouldn’t it be a bit of a problem for those who, ah . . . don’t really have a practical talent that we can demonstrate up front?” asked Rantaro. “I mean, I don’t think any teachers or experts are gonna just follow me on my next trips across the world just to see if I’m really the Ultimate Adventurer.”

“Apparently, if a student doesn’t have a proper way to fully demonstrate their talent for the evaluations, they can just show what they have through an exhibit of their own making,” said Kaede, reading through one of the pamphlets. “That, and by participating in the festivals with their respective classes.”

“An exhibit, huh?” Rantaro mused as he perused his own pamphlet. “Hmm. . . Sounds like I’m gonna have to document my next travels with photos and essays, and maybe put them in some sort of display, like an art gallery? Yeah, sounds about right. . .”

“Hah! The world’s gonna be in for a fuckin’ treat!” Miu exclaimed, regaining her usual bombastic bluster. “It’s not every day that virgin plebs and scruffy geezers get to witness the sheer genius behind my inventions! My exhibit’s gonna make them all cream in their pants, I’ll make sure of that!”

“As long as your ugly bitch face isn’t around, I’m sure they won’t mind taking a look,” Kokichi quipped flatly, causing Miu to recoil as she glared sourly at him.

“I’m sure you will do just fine, Miu,” Keebo proffered, his eyes shining with an air of encouragement, as if he was trying to make up for putting her on the spot earlier. Miu blushed like she did before, her face contorting into another attempt at haughtiness in the form of a smile, but she said nothing else.

“This would be a perfect time to demonstrate my Neo-Aikido firsthand,” said Tenko excitedly. “I’ll start training immediately! How about you, Himiko? A magic show sounds really great for this, too!”

“Maybe,” said Himiko, her eyes a cross between thoughtful and sleepy. “Though it’d be nice if kids had a chance to come and watch, too. Either way, I guess I’ll start recharging my MP and brushing up on my skills tonight. . .”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to watch what tricks you’ll show the school, Himiko,” said Kaede, smiling.

“Nyeeh. How many times do I have to repeat it to you guys? They’re not tricks. It’s real magic,” said Himiko sullenly.

“Seriously, how do they want me to show _my_ talent?” Maki muttered from one side, more to herself than to anyone.

“Maybe you can bring some kids over to take care of?” Kaito suggested, stooping down as he stared at her pamphlet from above her shoulder.

Startled, Maki drew away from him with a glare and, surprisingly, a faint flush on her cheeks. “Distance, Momota,” she hissed. “I keep telling you that.”

But even as the debates and questions began popping up around him, Ryoma read through his pamphlet with increasing grimness, the candy cigarette in between his teeth twirling and shaking as he chewed at it. It was as if fate had decided to wait for him to take his biggest step yet before suddenly—and almost mockingly—sending a major challenge his way in the form of this new development. Though he knew that he should have expected it to come sooner or later in a prestigious school expecting only the best from its students, he had no idea how he could go about what Hope’s Peak was asking of him. Naturally, there was no other way for him to display his talent other than through a tennis game—it seemed foolish and out of place for him to create an exhibit about his old tennis skills, or even to give a simple practical demonstration on the basics of tennis—but he was still _very_ far from being the tennis ace he used to be, both in physical and mental terms.

Soon, the discussion around him died down, and the class began settling down in preparation for their first class for the day. Ryoma folded his pamphlet and put it in his pocket, the thoughts still weighing on his mind. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh and gazed at the nearby windows again. Some students had occupied the open field in the distance, engaging in sports such as track and field, football and softball for their morning classes. Though they were little more than stick figures from where he watched them, Ryoma could see the enthusiasm and dedication they showed as they played and ran around and scored.

For a moment, his right hand twitched, as if itching to hold on to something. Ryoma glanced down at it, frowning. When nothing else came, he dismissed the erstwhile tic with a flex of his fingers.

* * *

Later that lunchtime, as he waited in the confines of his room for Kirumi to show up, Ryoma wondered if she would ask him about the matter at hand or not. Their paths had not crossed at all that morning, denying either of them a chance to discuss the topic. Nonetheless, he glimpsed a meaningful gleam beneath her eyes when their gazes had briefly connected a number of times that morning.

 _Unagi_ was the fare that Kirumi had prepared for him when she arrived a little while later, with the smell of grilled eel and pickled vegetables mingling together in a tantalizing vapor as she set the bowl down along with their customary pot of tea and their matching teacups. Ryoma was glad to see as well that Kirumi had brought along some of the snacks he had bought for her only last Tuesday after their gym session that day—three packs of sweet _anpan_ , or bean buns, which went well with the green tea and helped keep Kirumi from getting too hungry as she kept him company.

The first minutes passed by rather quietly, with the two of them punctuating their eating with a few side topics. No one seemed to want to touch on the subject of the impending trials the pamphlets earlier had presented, though Ryoma could sense that Kirumi was drawing ever closer to asking him about it, and that she was only holding back out of respect for his peace of mind.

He decided to take the step for her and let her in. “Sounds like those upcoming evaluations are gonna make things pretty interesting for everyone, eh?” he muttered, mixing up his grilled eel, vegetables and rice with his chopsticks.

Kirumi regarded him for a moment with a bit of surprise as she chewed on a bite of _anpan_. “Quite,” she said when she had swallowed her food. “I could sense the anticipation from all the Ultimates at the cafeteria earlier.”

“There’s dread, too.”

“. . . From you as well?”

Ryoma shrugged, chewing his food slowly. “I don’t know if it’s dread I’m feeling or what. Either way, I’m not looking forward to it that much.”

“I see.” Kirumi finished her _anpan_ and sipped some green tea. “That’s understandable, considering where you’ve been thus far. You haven’t been able to play tennis for a very long time now, so training for the evaluation and the eventual exam on September would take quite a bit of work.”

“But it’s not like I have any other choice,” Ryoma went on. “The pamphlets made it clear that it’s part of a major school requirement. Failure to comply or pass would mean getting kicked out.”

Kirumi said nothing in return. Ryoma looked at her again and knew that she was choosing her words carefully. Still, even as she kept silent, he did not have to think too hard on what her opinions were about all this. He decided to trudge on, knowing that by showing that he was open to discussing the matter openly, she could say whatever it is that she wanted to tell him.

“It ain’t gonna be easy, that I’m sure of,” he said. “Our workouts at the gym are a big help in keeping me physically and mentally fit, but for tennis? I’ve still got a ways to go. And it’s not just the rust on the court that I’m worried about. . .”

Kirumi regarded him meaningfully for a moment. “Yes, I think I have an idea of what you mean.”

Ryoma nodded, though he wondered if Kirumi did know what he was talking about. Though people would expect him to quickly get back in his old groove on the court, like he had said, it was not just his long break from the sport that had affected his experiences with a tennis racket and a ball. Again, like it had done earlier that morning, his hand twitched instinctively, and this time a phantom sensation formed at his fingertips to go with the brief paroxysm.

The feel of a metal ball, the same size as an ordinary tennis ball, cold to the touch.

Ryoma set down his food and looked away momentarily, the memories creeping in and eliciting a heavy sigh from him. He closed his eyes, feeling a telltale chill run down his spine, not unlike the one he had experienced on his first day exercising at the gymnasium. Willfully, almost desperately, he tried steering his mind away from the sensation.

Sensing his brief distress, Kirumi leaned over the table towards him. “Ryoma? Are you okay?” she asked, concern instantly lacing her voice.

Ryoma breathed deeply, trying to soothe his stress. _Relax, Hoshi. It’s just another bad memory, that’s all. Just focus. Think of her instead._ _Remember her._ But the feeling of that cold, unforgiving metal ball lingered alongside the chill coursing through his back, and adding Isabella into the mix only made him remember worse things.

He opened his eyes and gazed upon Kirumi, and for a split second he was taken aback; focusing so hard on his memory of Isabella, he saw some of her in Kirumi’s beautiful face as well. The sight of it startled him out of his wits for a moment, but as Isabella faded and Kirumi returned, his mind found something to anchor upon. Gradually, the anxiety passed, the memories receding into ominous but distant strokes, and he felt himself calming down at last.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, clenching and unclenching his hand again to completely ward off the feeling on his fingertips. “Bad memories, that’s all.”

Kirumi’s gaze was one of sympathetic understanding now. Not for the first time, Ryoma wondered if she sensed more than she showed, and how difficult it could be for her to hold back from asking him about it. Part of him was sorry that he could not tell her just yet; given how much he was starting to trust her, it felt wrong to hold back on his part.

After a few moments of grave silence, Kirumi asked no questions about what he had just experienced and remembered. Instead, she said in an earnest, sincere tone, “You can get through this, Ryoma. I will make sure of that. Whatever support or help you need, I will give.”

As she spoke, her eyes shone with a certain degree of serious resolve that Ryoma had never seen from her before. Of course, that was not to say Kirumi was not serious at any other time; indeed, she often served with formal determination, never going beyond the boundaries of how a proper maid would act and behave, responding to the reactions and whims of others with a mixture of cordiality and primness. But this time, within the privacy of his room, she seemed to show more of that other side of hers. More serious and grave, yes, but also more . . . _familiar_ , more like a friend rather than a maid, a friend who would go through great lengths to help a companion in need. It was what made Ryoma appreciate her so greatly—and also what kept him up at night sometimes.

“You’ll need to focus on your own work as well, though,” he pointed out. It seemed rather foolish to assume that Kirumi would have her hands full with someone like him when she was fully capable of addressing the needs of the academy’s student body as well. But given how personal it seemed for Kirumi to help him in his journey to get back on his feet, he was somehow worried about how it may fare for her in the long run, their growing closeness and progress notwithstanding.

Kirumi, on the other hand, merely smiled at him. “I will be able to take care of myself, don’t worry.”

Ryoma sighed, looking back at her. Though the chill on his back was still lingering like some sort of spectral caress, he drew comfort and reassurance from her pale green eyes, as if somehow, as long as her words affirmed to him that everything was fine, then it was fine.

“Alright then,” he said gravely. “Let’s just see and hope for the best come September. I think we’ll do better if we just trust the process and let things happen instead of worrying too much about it right now.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Kirumi. “Becoming better is what we should be focusing on instead.”

That much was true, Ryoma mused with a wordless nod. The road to September would be rife with doubt, tension and pain, he knew, and if his negative recollections were any indication, it was bound to get even worse. Still, with Kirumi by his side, and his memory of Isabella enduring with him all the while, he imagined actually seeing things through.

* * *

When their gym session ended later that afternoon, Kirumi excused herself rather early, stating that she was needed by some of Class 78’s denizens to assist with their transfer to a new classroom after their current one needed repairs following a small incident. Though he wanted to stay awhile and talk to Kirumi before he went back to his dorm room, Ryoma let her be, musing that he could spend his time instead wandering somewhere else instead of lingering at the gymnasium; Kaito’s visits there with Shuichi and Maki were starting to increase, always before evening without fail, and the last thing Ryoma wanted was to run into the Ultimate Astronaut before he could leave.

Having changed back into his traditional prison garb, he left the gymnasium and made his way to the school’s convenience store, intending to buy himself another drink. His duffel bag hung from his small frame, almost as large as he was, and Ryoma often sensed that it might make for a comical sight for those who were unfamiliar with him. Still, he pressed on, not minding any stares that might come his way. The only thing about it that always made him feel self-conscious was the fact that, ignoring the prison clothes he wore, he looked as if he was still the old athlete he had been, carrying his tennis gear with him, attending a new match or another training session somewhere in the academy. And with September inching towards them, he knew that this thought could soon become a reality. Not for the first time that day, he felt pressure well up at the back of his mind as he imagined what would come—and what horrible memories he would have to relive along the way.

Feeling burdened now, he decided to stop by the school’s convenience store and the vending machines adjacent to it, intending to soothe his thoughts with a good drink. Kirumi’s stock earlier had run out when Class 77-B’s Akane Owari drained ten bottles of sports drinks for herself during her fierce training session with her classmate and self-proclaimed coach, Nekomaru Nidai. It was a sight that Ryoma would not soon forget given the ferocity and sheer palpable intensity of the two’s loud and boisterous dynamic, and he found himself envying their enthusiasm and determination from afar. After their own training session, Kirumi had expressed her intention to procure another drink for him, but Ryoma waved her off so that she could attend to her duties with Class 78 posthaste.

Once he had chosen a specific drink, he reached into his duffel bag to see if he had brought any spare change. However, as he rummaged through the bag’s pockets, he soon saw that he had run out of the correct denominations for the vending machines. Disappointed even more now, he turned away with the intention of going somewhere else instead when he almost collided with someone standing right behind him.

“Oh,” he grunted, taking a step backwards before he could walk straight into the person’s legs. He looked up and saw that he was a Reserve Course student, judging from the black uniform he was wearing, with spiky brown hair and green eyes that reminded him vaguely of Kirumi. He looked down at Ryoma with a surprised expression.

“Sorry about that,” Ryoma said quietly. “I should’ve watched where I was going there.”

“That’s okay,” said the boy, whose shadow loomed over him like everyone else’s. Ryoma stepped aside to let him pass. The boy went forward, but looked back at him as he stopped in front of the vending machines.

“Aren’t you going to get anything?” he asked Ryoma, who looked up at him again.

“Don’t have the right coins for it,” he said in reply. “I’ve only got a few bills with me.”

“Oh, I can help you break them if you want,” the boy offered. “I’ve got a bit of spare change right here.”

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, of course,” said the boy with a smile. “What do you need?”

Surprised at the boy’s readiness to help him, Ryoma checked his duffel bag’s pockets again rather reluctantly. “I’ve got a two hundred yen bill here,” he said. “I need a hundred and twenty in coins if I’m gonna get a drink.”

The boy rummaged in his own pockets for a moment, taking out a small fistful of coins and counting them in the vending machines’ light. “Perfect,” he said after a short while. “I’ve got a hundred here, and I can swap the other hundred for five twenties.”

“Yeah, that’ll do nicely.”

After swapping denominations, Ryoma stood aside to let the boy go first as his way of showing his thanks. The boy was finished in under a minute, bearing with him two bottles of chocolate soy milk and pocketing one of them. As he stepped forward now to get the grape soda that he had wanted to buy, Ryoma looked back at the boy over his shoulder.

“Thanks for that,” he muttered as the can of soda fell to the vending machine’s pickup slot with a clatter. “It’s kinda surprising that you’d help out a total stranger.”

“It’s nothing,” said the boy, smiling again. “And to be honest, well, you’re not exactly a total stranger to me and a lot of people. You’re Ryoma Hoshi, right? The tennis champion?”

Ryoma nodded curtly. “Former,” he corrected, opening the soda can and taking a refreshing sip. “It’s been a long time since I competed. You know that.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said the boy. “Oh, I should introduce myself before I forget again. My name is Hajime Hinata.”

He held out his hand, which Ryoma shook briefly. “So you’re from the Reserve Course?” he asked him.

“Yes,” Hajime replied. “It’s my first year here.”

“Sounds nice,” said Ryoma. “It’s the first time I talked to anyone from your batch.”

“Same. I mean, there’s this one Ultimate student that I’m friends with, and I do get to talk to her classmates as well, but you’re probably the first one I’ve talked to that’s not part of her class. I’ve seen you a few times around the school grounds and near the gym, and I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

“About tennis, I presume?”

“Well, yes.” Hajime seemed relieved at the fact that Ryoma was responding rather openly to him. “My friends and I used to watch your matches back in middle school. Some of them even started playing tennis because of you.”

Ryoma nodded again, though privately he did not know what to feel. That he had inspired many young people like him for being such a good tennis player back then had always felt normal, like it was a given, but after his fall from grace and the harsh lessons it brought him, he found himself wondering if those young men and women who had looked up to him as fans of the sport still felt the same way. Looking up at Hajime, he could sense that he was part of those who still remembered him as an athlete instead of a criminal.

“Those days are long gone, though,” he told Hajime. “I just hope your friends don’t make the same mistakes I did. Then again, I doubt anyone would create a blunder as big as throwing their entire life away.”

Taken aback by his sudden grimness, Hajime looked unsure as to what to say. Gazing up at him again, Ryoma decided to take some of the weight away from his words before Hajime could think that his momentary melancholy was somehow his fault. “Either way, I still ended up here in spite of that, so that’s gotta mean something, right?” he went on. “And if I want to keep staying here as a student like the rest of you, I’ve got to start doing something about it.”

“Ah, yes,” said Hajime, his anxious reluctance gradually being dispelled at Ryoma’s change of tack. “To tell you the truth, I’ve also been telling myself something like that after I managed to enroll here. It’s tough, and it’s bound to get even harder from here, but I knew that getting here in the first place was a good sign—that I should do my best to make sure I can keep going and reach my dreams.”

“It’s admirable of you to see it like that,” Ryoma acknowledged. “Whatever the case, I hope things go well for you and other students like you.”

“Thank you,” said Hajime. “I hope that the same goes for you, too.”

“We’ll see,” Ryoma told him. “Anyway, don’t you have somewhere to go?”

“Oh, right, I should be getting back to my friends now,” said Hajime, glancing down at the corridor to his right for a moment. He looked back at him and smiled cordially. “Thanks for your time, by the way. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise,” said Ryoma, tipping his beanie at him.

* * *

When he had gotten back to his dorm room around twenty minutes later, Ryoma stretched his strained arms briefly, relishing in silence the fruits of today’s workouts. He deposited his duffel bag next to his bed, wondering what to eat for dinner later. Ever since he had chosen to rejoin the class regularly, Kirumi had invited him to join them for dinner every evening in the cafeteria, a prospect echoed by Rantaro, Kaede and Shuichi, though Ryoma knew that such a prospect would take some getting used to before he could actually take them up on the offer. For now, as he gradually climbed back up the rungs and out of his physical and mental lethargy, he was content with taking it slow and steady.

But of course, such a meager pace seemed contradictory to what he should be doing to prepare for September’s ominous shadow, looming slowly and inexorably towards them all. Ryoma remained at the foot of his bed, and as he dwelt on September’s coming difficulties, he began to feel the lethargy returning in his countenance like perpetual malaise, the anxiety and depression threatening to take hold of him and dampen his spirits for the rest of the evening. It was a tiresome, sickening feeling, the same kind he always felt when he was forced to relive his memories of tennis in front of people who did not know the harsher, darker side to his story.

But he also remembered his efforts, his changing thoughts—and Isabella, too. The ache in his muscles chased away the cold feeling running down his spine, just as his brief conversation with Hajime seemed to give him purpose similar to what Kirumi inspired in him through her efforts. He channeled the thoughts and sensations in silence until nothing remained of the momentary heaviness he felt—nothing except the telltale sensation of that cold metal ball against his palm and fingertips.

With a grunt, he stood up and walked over to the only corner of his room that he had not yet approached.

The tennis bag was still there, lying on the floor in the same position it had landed in when Ryoma threw it there during his first day at Hope’s Peak. He stared down at it for a few moments, flexing his fingers slowly. With a resigned sigh, he bent down and picked it up from the floor, patting it clean as he walked back to his bed. He placed the bag there and, with a hint of reluctance, opened it.

He drew in a small, sharp breath. Befitting Hope’s Peak Academy’s standards and its all-out way of tending to the Ultimates’ needs, the three tennis racket inside the bag were of superb quality indeed, with a name brand that Ryoma immediately recognized as a regular sponsor in prestigious tennis matches and tournaments across the globe. Gingerly, he reached in and took one out from the bag, gripping it as a warrior would grip a blade, a warrior who was only starting to regain the feel of a weapon after years of abstinence from combat. He adjusted his hand around it, acknowledging the feel of its rubber-gripped handle, observing the quality of its strings. For a fleeting moment, he remembered the last time he had ever gripped a tennis racket, and he closed his eyes briefly as a spasm of pain and sorrow overtook him.

When he looked down, that was when he saw what else was in the bag: two cans of tennis balls, which were just as high-quality as the rackets that accompanied them. Feeling drawn to them, Ryoma placed the racket down on the bed, reached out towards one can, peeled its lid off and took out one ball from it. Almost immediately, as he curled his fingers around it, he remembered the metallic ball that kept haunting his thoughts. He expected another hurt-filled sting to course through him, brought by his darkest memories as always, but the tennis ball’s coarse, warm feel seemed to blot out the phantom sensation of metal in his mind.

For a long moment, he could only stare, adjusting to the tennis ball’s sight and feel. As if to try something else, he picked up the racket from the bed once more, positioned it against the ball, and began dribbling. It was slow-going at first, tentative, as if he was gauging the feel and force of his moves, while the ball tapped dully against the floor of his room. And then, the pace slowly picked up, gradually, inevitably, the sound rising into a steady cadence of tapping and thudding as the ball collided with the floor over and over. And as Ryoma was swept up with familiar instinct, he was almost overcome with the urge to smash the ball forward in a serve. But instead, he settled with one last dribble, striking the ball down to the floor with a last burst of force before catching it deftly in a sweeping motion with his right hand.

Just like that, the intensity ebbed away. Ryoma stood there for a long moment, savoring the feel of the familiar exercise, and he turned to see his reflection in the nearby mirror. Briefly, he was seized by a sudden impulse to laugh, to give in to some self-deprecating mirth at how comical he must have looked dribbling the ball like it was nobody’s business. But even as he stared at himself in the mirror, the tiny convict in prison clothes clutching a tennis ball and a racket for the first time in years, he saw understanding and even solidarity in his reflection.

 _September,_ he mused with a nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. TAKE THAT, WRITER'S BLOCK.
> 
> But for real, I'm glad that I managed to find that last burst of inspiration to turn in this chapter at long last. I hope it'll be worth the read for you guys. Usually, I take one week off from writing after an upload as a sort of break before I get back into the next chapter with two weeks' worth of planning and writing, with a week or two of writer's block just sauntering in between like it's nobody's business. Hopefully that gives you an idea on how my writing process works, and why there are delays like this. Nonetheless, no matter how tough it becomes, rest assured that new chapters will come out one way or another.
> 
> Anyways, I'll see you in the next chapter. Take care, stay safe!


	8. A Sense of Closeness

Dogs, cats, mice and birds alike observed the scene with curiosity from their cages all around the classroom, but Kirumi’s focus was on the task at hand. The stray cat before her seemed docile enough, with its patched black-and-white fur, thin frame and innocent amber eyes, but the words that Gundham Tanaka spoke made it seem as if the feline was a terrible predator of some sort. Then again, whatever animal was involved in his small menagerie, the Ultimate Breeder always made sure to warn anyone passing by the classroom about them, though it was not difficult to know which classroom Gundham kept his animals in; the faint smell of animal fur, pet food and excrement would easily alert anyone to the makeshift menagerie’s presence as they walked down the corridors.

“I will try to collar him as quickly as possible, so that he won’t be distressed,” Kirumi said, readying the pet cone in her gloved hands. “I just hope it wouldn’t hurt him in some way.”

“I doubt it, but a leonine wanderer’s mind can change on a whim, especially when plagued by the corruptive influence of parasites from the void beyond,” the Ultimate Breeder remarked in that deep, sinister tone his voice had. “The Seal of Protection may trigger his baser instincts and unleash his bloodlust, but it is a necessity in this grim endeavor, I fear.”

Kirumi nodded to show that she had understood. Whatever the other students thought of Gundham, all are agreed that there was no one better when it came to matters concerning the health and wellbeing of animals. Standing by his desk, watching the cat with a serious glare in his differently colored eyes, the Ultimate Breeder looked like an imperious, eccentric figure indeed. Even in the uniform of Ultimates, his outlandish appearance had given him quite a reputation around the school, with his black-and-white undercut, the flowing purple scarf around his neck, the orange earrings that dangled from his earlobes, his bandaged left arm and his black leather boots. Kirumi had encountered him only twice before when she had been helping out students from his class, noticing how he sat ominously in one corner of the room, pale-skinned and grim-looking, with his eyes closed as if he was meditating. As such, it had been surprising when he had approached her earlier—rather reluctantly, she noted—about helping him treat one of his newer arrivals: a stray cat that he had found in his recent travels outside the school.

As Kirumi now approached the cat, ready to collar it with the pet cone, Gundham held out his bandaged arm. “Have care in bringing the seal around his neck!” he said. “I can sense the tension in his bones. One wrong move and he could have your arm.”

“Noted,” said Kirumi. “If you will, please give me some room to work with, Gundham. I’ll try to make him stay as calm as possible.”

Gundham looked at her for a moment as if she was mad. After a moment of silence, he chuckled. “Your fearless determination is refreshing to witness,” he said, lowering his arm. “You worry not about claws rending at your flesh, or parasites fleeing the beast’s corrupted flesh to infest your own limbs. Perhaps that is why I knew you were the soundest choice I could have in helping me placate this terrible, afflicted being.” He made a sweeping gesture, his scarf flapping like a cape behind him. “Very well, then! Do what you will. If anything goes awry, however, pray that I am able to harness enough energy in my weakened state to protect us both!”

In the end, however, in spite of Gundham’s predictions of an attack that could come at any moment, Kirumi managed to collar the cat with the pet cone easily enough, patting it gently on its back as she slipped the cone carefully around its head. The cat had tried to resist as soon as the cone encircled its neck, but a few more pats and strokes from Kirumi’s gloved fingers eased its tension soon enough. Up close, she soon saw the reasons for Gundham’s concern for the animal; there were bare, reddened patches on its flank and midsection that could only have come from fleas, likely a result of the cat’s time wandering the streets as a stray.

“Most impressive,” Gundham muttered with an approving nod as he watched the cat scratch idly at its cone. “For you to tame the eldritch wanderer’s fickle nature with such impunity, especially for someone who is no beastspeaker . . . your talents are indeed as formidable as they are storied, Arachnean sibyl.”

“I’m glad to help,” said Kirumi, smiling as she patted her gloves clean. “If you need my assistance with your other animals, feel free to approach me again.”

Gundham threw back his head and roared with laughter, not unlike a dramatic villain straight out of a work of fiction. “The audacity of your offer is admirable, though likely misplaced. Still, I shall keep it in mind. Ordinarily I would be able to handle the undertakings in my arcane bestiary by myself, and I would have relished the chance to placate this golden-eyed demon had Maga-Z not unleashed his terrible bloodthirst upon my cursed arm only recently.”

“I see. I hope your arm recovers soon enough,” said Kirumi earnestly, her eyes resting on Gundham’s bandaged arm for a moment. “Has Mikan taken a look at it yet?”

Gundham let out a snort of contempt. “I do not know of any being that would be able to handle the abyssal power leaking from my injured arm, let alone someone who quakes in fear as frequently as that mewling healer. Then again, if I let my injuries persist for too long, my powers would surely wane, and the demonic beasts under my rule may break free of their shackles and bring this world to an untimely end. . .”

He shook his head grimly. “Should the need arise, perhaps I shall . . . _consider_ approaching her.”

“Very good. Now, is there anything else you need help with?” asked Kirumi. “If not, I will take my leave, if you don’t mind. There are other duties I need to take care of.”

“That will be all for now.” At that, Gundham inclined his head, his earrings swaying with the gesture. “It was a pleasure watching a savant like you at work, Arachnean sibyl. Very rarely does the Supreme Overlord of Ice give his gratitude freely to those brazen enough to serve, but you have it nonetheless. Now then, leave my cursed domain at once! I need to begin laying down the necessary enchantments to contain this wanderer’s plague before it afflicts both hapless mortals and demon beasts alike.”

“Very well. I hope the feline recovers soon enough. Take care, Gundham.”

Outside the classroom, students started to increase in numbers as the day’s classes came to an end, their idle chatter filling the corridors and hallways as they left their classrooms to go spend the rest of the day somewhere else. A few recognized and greeted Kirumi with smiles and greetings as she passed them by, with Kirumi reciprocating courteously. With each passing week, more students came up to her asking for her services, with Gundham being one of the more recent ones, and it felt fulfilling to serve them all to the best of her abilities.

It was even busier and noisier in the kitchens when Kirumi arrived, with the school’s roster of cooks were working together to prepare dinner for later that evening. Pots and pans alike let out aromatic smoke and steam as they sat on the stoves, while the gleaming countertops were laden with various ingredients ready for preparation—raw meat and fish, piles of vegetables, and seasonings of every possible variety. Amidst it all, a myriad of sounds created the kitchen’s cacophonous harmony, the busy atmosphere not unlike the bustling confines of a five-star restaurant’s kitchens with the clatter of cooking utensils, the sizzle of food, and the occasional shout or two from the cooks.

Amidst the sea of steam and working bodies, Teruteru Hanamura bustled out to meet Kirumi as soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen. “Ah, Kirumi! You’ve arrived just in time, my lovely darling!” the Ultimate Cook called out, his chubby face breaking into a wide smile. “Come, come. I need your expert opinion on a couple of things I’ve been working on.”

Kirumi followed him to his station, where an assortment of high-quality ingredients was laid out in an orderly manner. There were two choice cuts of brisket, their marbling making their succulent-looking red flesh stand out in a tantalizing sight; a mixture of spices in clear canisters that Kirumi recognized as part of Teruteru’s private repertoire; and a few bottles of liquid condiments such as olive oil, cooking wine, soy sauce, vinegar and the like.

“As you can see, I have _two_ dishes that I’m trying to perfect in time for tonight’s dinner,” the Ultimate Cook stated. “As much as I’d like to serve some of the finer meals I’ve cooked before for high-end critics in Michelin-starred European brasseries, I fear that most of our peers might fail to appreciate the finer points of such delicacies. Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give the meals here a bit more pizazz, to help bring out some more . . . _ecstasy_. Know what I mean?”

“I understand,” said Kirumi.

Teruteru gave her a knowing grin and picked up one of the brisket slabs. “You see, I’m planning on using my new spice blend for this first recipe of mine— _boeuf épicé à la_ Toulouse!”

Listening to the dish’s name, Kirumi recognized the words “spiced beef” in French, and she could not help but wonder if this was simply an ordinary dish elevated to lofty standards by Teruteru’s skill and thirst for sophistication. Nevertheless, whatever it was, it would be a delectable meal indeed, especially where the Ultimate Cook is concerned.

“It’s a work-in-progress that has been strictly confidential until now,” Teruteru went on. “After all, what self-respecting chef would keep most of his recipes only to himself, right? Of course, I can’t exactly reveal the blend’s recipe to you or anyone else, but let’s just say that it’ll be oh-so . . . _magnifique_.” He laughed softly, running his free hand gently across the brisket. “I don’t know about you, mademoiselle, but isn’t the mere thought of rubbing this savory, one-of-a-kind blend all over this superb hunk of meat enough to get you going?”

Kirumi simply nodded along. For anyone who has ever encountered Teruteru, she knew that the Ultimate Cook’s suggestive tone and remarks were less than welcome in many cases, whether they were intentional or not. Still, she had endured far worse in the past; after all, being a maid who was young, talented and beautiful—at least, according to the people she had met before—often drew in employers whose reputations for sleaziness could be far worse than Teruteru’s penchant for innuendos or even Miu’s openly vulgar ramblings. To her credit, Kirumi learned quickly enough how to deal with such people and encounters—be strictly about business.

“I take it this first dish will involve grilling, is that correct?” she asked Teruteru. “If so, I know a few side dish recipes that would work superbly with grilled meat, especially with a cut like this. Perhaps you can use all of them and leave it to the students to choose, and you can refer to their choices in order to decide next time if such an endeavor is worth exploring again? But of course, the decision rests solely on you, and I would be overstepping my boundaries as a maid if I forced you to go along with my suggestion instead of hearing you out first.”

She spoke with such a professional tone that Teruteru looked disarmed for a moment, his suggestive façade faltering. “Er, yes, w-well . . . of course, I would always be delighted to hear your take on our culinary endeavors here, madame!” he replied, setting the brisket down with a nervous smile this time. “I mean, y-you may not be a chef like me, but I know that your training as a maid has allowed you to explore and try out many high-quality recipes, as evidenced by your previous enlightened suggestions in helping me with the school’s menu.”

Kirumi smiled. “I’m always glad to be of help. But before we discuss that, may I know what your second planned recipe is?”

“Second? Ah, yes, o-of course!”

At that, Teruteru snapped back into his more professional demeanor as well, clearing his throat as he gestured at the other cut of brisket. “For this second cut, there’s this recipe that has been on my mind recently, a little something that crossed my mind when I remembered my years of serving my multi-awarded dishes in our family di—ah, I mean, r-restaurant!”

“That sounds like a magnificent dish indeed,” Kirumi remarked.

“Quite.” Teruteru managed to chuckle more confidently this time as he patted the brisket. “I call it . . . Versailles-style Meat and Potato Stew _queue de boeuf_!”

“Intriguing,” said Kirumi. “Please continue. We might be able to make it happen if we get straight to business, yes?”

“Oh, of course, of course!” said Teruteru, moving about briskly now as he prepared the ingredients he needed. “Wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time, seeing how busy you always are, Miss Kirumi. Though if you’re free, I could always keep you company, if you don’t mind. . .”

Kirumi smiled politely. “Thank you, but there is already someone who helps me with that.”

* * *

By the time she had finished her duties in the kitchens, Kirumi found herself hurrying down the corridors towards her dorm room. There were still thirty minutes before four, just enough time for her to get dressed and meet Ryoma at their usual spot outside the gymnasium for their workout. As tired as she seemed to feel, Kirumi knew there was no excuse for her to miss out, especially now that the gymnasium was starting to become more crowded during the afternoons and early evenings. After the announcement about the upcoming school events, more Ultimates had taken the time to become more productive in their own ways to prepare for them. Some chose to work on any personal activities related to their talents, like Teruteru and Gundham did, while more took the opportunity to exercise at the gym to keep their bodies in good shape on the road to September. While Kirumi knew that more students would probably ask for her services with drinks, fresh towels and clothing at the gym, it also meant that Ryoma needed more of her company than ever in order to not feel self-conscious about exercising alongside more students.

Ryoma was already waiting for her when she arrived outside the gymnasium fifteen minutes later. Having carried with her a load of drinks in her sports bag for the other gym goers, Kirumi found herself breathing rather quickly from her brisk walk to the gymnasium, a fact that seemed to pique Ryoma’s concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I’m fine,” Kirumi managed to say with a smile. “I thought I was running late already.”

“Not really. You’re on time, as always.”

“That’s good to know. I had more things to take care of before I got here. Anyway, shall we get going?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

Apart from the usual gym patrons like Sakura, Aoi, Nekomaru and Akane, there were relatively new faces inside the gymnasium as well. Kirumi took note of Leon Kuwata, Class 78’s Ultimate Baseball Star, flexing in front of the mirror as he took pictures of himself with his phone; his classmate, the tall and strapping Ultimate Biker Gang Leader Mondo Owada, was curling a couple of heavy dumbbells some distance away, his muscles rippling against his sweat-sheened skin with every curl he made; and with a smile of recognition Kirumi also spotted Taka pedaling furiously on one of the exercise bikes at the opposite end of the room, his red eyes brimming with so much intensity that it looked as if he was trying to will the exercise bike to move from its place. Sakura and Aoi were working out in tandem as well, Sakura with her static exercises, Aoi with her yoga. And at the farthest end of the room, their voices clashing and mingling in a loud, boisterous clamor, Nekomaru was pushing Akane to her limit with various gymnast exercises atop an expanse of scattered exercise mats.

Next to her, Ryoma acknowledged the new arrivals with a nod. “Nice to see that more people are coming in,” he muttered. “I just hope I won’t get in their way.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Kirumi assured him with a smile. “If you need me, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

“Sure thing.”

At that, Kirumi went to start her own exercises, striking up a pleasant conversation with Taka as she began her usual cardio routine on an exercise bike. Meanwhile, Ryoma went to the weight racks, stretched for a couple of minutes, and bunkered down for some push-ups. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, even as the noises in the gymnasium seemed to slowly increase in volume as time passed. Once, the atmosphere was momentarily derailed by a loud din when Akane and Nekomaru began their customary sparring match just as a gaggle of Reserve Course girls flocked at the exercise room’s entrance; Leon sidled up to meet them, prompting them to begin screaming and giggling in excitement. Horrified and affronted by these simultaneous developments, Taka had hurried forth to reprimand Akane, Nekomaru, Leon and the girls, with Sakura following close behind him in case any trouble began. The rest of the gym goers and the other students outside watched in a mixture of amusement, bewilderment and disapproval. Kirumi also stood by, ready to help Taka and Sakura keep order in case things got rowdy.

And all the while, she noticed from the corner of her eye, Ryoma was exercising with an intensity she had never seen before from him.

From his pull-ups, triceps dips and bicep curls to his push-ups, sit-ups and incline presses, he seemed to be afire, putting in even more work than before, going more than a few repetitions beyond his usual goals. Kirumi had initially taken such things as the fruits of his gradual improvement, both physically and mentally, but the way Ryoma moved made him seem empowered with a sense of forceful purpose, of grim clarity. He paid little heed to the commotion that surrounded him, choosing instead to focus upon his reflection on the exercise room’s many mirrors with an utterly serious glare, as if he was channeling the energy he needed by staring daggers at his own face. Kirumi could only observe him from afar with mild concern as she exercised, and she considered going to him a few times in order to check if anything was bothering him, but a part of her sensed that he was better off left alone; whatever her concerns were, they would have to wait until their workout session ended.

When the commotion from earlier had finally subsided, with the Reserve Course girls having been shooed off and Nekomaru going with Akane to spar in the dojo instead, Kirumi figured that it would be a good time to begin handing out refreshments. Taka accepted his sports drink with a hefty measure of relief and gratitude, while Sakura and Kirumi commended him on his efforts in maintaining peace and order. Leon, on the other hand, cast him a few sullen glances from the sidelines as he went to the showers to change, though he did accept a bottle of sports drink from Kirumi with a wink and a smile.

Ryoma had finished a set of cable pulls when Kirumi approached him with a fresh water bottle. He looked up at her, sweat trickling freely down his face and causing his shirt to stick to his body, and accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks.

“Going an extra mile today, are we?” Kirumi asked him, smiling.

Ryoma grunted as he took a swig of water. “You could say that. I don’t think I’ve worked out this much in the past couple of years. But I figured it was a good time to crank things up a notch.”

Kirumi nodded, feeling relieved that his reasons were more positive than she had previously imagined. Nevertheless, Ryoma could be enigmatic sometimes, she knew, and perhaps there was more than meets the eye when it came to his improving drive. Privately, she guessed that the road to September had something to do with it, though it was a topic that she was still reluctant to bring up lest it clouded Ryoma’s focus and growth.

As Ryoma drank another gulp of water, he let out a sigh of discomfort. Taking note of this, Kirumi looked down to see him flexing his right shoulder gingerly. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

Ryoma paused for a moment, as if gauging the feel of his shoulder as he slowed down his flexing. “I think so,” he said in reply, though when he bent his right elbow and pulled backwards to stretch, a spasm of pain flickered across his face, and with a twitch he quickly eased his arm back to its normal position.

“Damn it. . .” he muttered under his breath.

Kirumi straightened up immediately. “Are you hurt?”

His breath hissing through his nostrils, Ryoma could not seem to answer directly. “I think I strained myself a bit too much,” he said. “Must’ve worked my shoulders too hard. . .”

“Where does it hurt?” Kirumi inquired, going on full duty mode.

“Right around the middle of my back, going up my shoulder blades,” Ryoma grunted. Slowly, he tried to stretch his arms again, but he stopped with a hiss of pain as his arms reached a certain point. He shook his head, looking peeved, and glanced up at the cable machine he had been using earlier. Sensing his frustration and determination to keep going in spite of himself, Kirumi placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I think we can call it a day here, Ryoma,” she said.

He looked up at her, his face bearing a look of disappointment now. “How about you?” he asked quietly. “You’re not done working out yet.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” said Kirumi with an earnest smile. “Now then, does your back hurt only when you stretch, or is the pain there regardless?”

Ryoma looked down at his body for a moment, as if checking to see which case was true. “I think it’s still there,” he replied, “but if I could just lie down or put some heat on it, I should be fine.”

“Then would you like to go back to your room now?” Kirumi proffered. “I’ll accompany you.”

Ryoma grimaced. “That sounds like too much to ask, Kirumi.”

“It is no trouble to me,” Kirumi insisted. “I will carry your things as well, so that you won’t have to strain yourself further. Once we get there, I can get some hot compress for you to use. Or perhaps some menthol ointment, if you prefer.”

“I . . .” Ryoma beseeched her almost imploringly for a second, as if trying to debate further about the idea of having her tend to him like his body’s strain was a serious matter. But in Kirumi’s mind, it _was_ a serious matter, especially with how upset and disappointed it seemed to make Ryoma feel.

At last, Ryoma heaved a resigned sigh. “Alright, let’s go,” he said. “At least with you around, I won’t do anything else that’ll make this worse.”

“Very well,” said Kirumi with a nod. “I’ll just go get our things.”

* * *

As the two of them made their way to Ryoma’s room, having left the gym so fast that they were still clad in their workout clothes, Kirumi’s mind raced past a variety of ideas on how best to address Ryoma’s workout strain. Naturally, a preliminary set of remedies—hot compress and resting in bed, like Ryoma had suggested—would be ideal in order to soothe any discomfort he might be feeling and ease any aches that will intensify in the following day. But Kirumi also knew that preparing for all possible scenarios was also a must, and she needed to stand by Ryoma in order to do so if anything else happens. All throughout their walk towards his room, Ryoma looked silently forlorn, as if he had done her a personal wrong by straining himself too much and cutting their session short.

When the two of them arrived at his room, Kirumi set aside their bags while Ryoma sat down at a nearby chair. “Do you have some face towels in your bathroom?” Kirumi asked him.

“Yeah, there should be some next to the sink,” replied Ryoma.

Indeed, as Kirumi entered the bathroom and flicked on the light switch, she found a number of face towels hanging neatly from a rack next to the bathroom sink, as well as a small wash basin in the cabinets below it. She set the bathroom’s water heater to a higher level, waited for a few minutes for the water to reach the desired temperature, and filled the wash basin to capacity. She soaked one of the face towels in the hot water, nodded with approval at the heat, and went back to Ryoma’s room.

Ryoma looked up when he heard her approaching. Kirumi walked over to him, set down the wash basin at his table, and picked up the face towel again, pressing it free of any extra water and watching the trickles seep through her fingers. In the silence of Ryoma’s room, the sounds seemed to resonate louder than normal, magnifying an air of seriousness that hung between them. Kirumi turned to face Ryoma, ready to apply the hot compress, but only then did she realize something she had forgotten to acknowledge.

_How exactly am I going to do this . . . ?_

Her eyes met Ryoma’s for a brief moment, and Kirumi imagined seeing the reflection of her own private discomfiture in them. When a faint look of realization dawned on Ryoma’s face as well, she looked away, fearing that in her haste to help him, she had inadvertently boxed the two of them into an awkward corner. She gripped the face towel tighter. _Perhaps I should just find another way to do this,_ she told herself. _Maybe there’s something else that—_

Ryoma shifted in his seat, tugged at the hem of his shirt, and took it off carefully, his movements a little constrained as he grunted in discomfort. Bewildered, Kirumi drew back as she watched him place the shirt against the edge of the table, right next to the wash basin. When he had done so, Ryoma scooted a little on his chair and leaned forward, his torso now completely bare, his back exposed in front of her. The grooves formed by the muscles on his shoulders, arms and back seemed to run deep against the relatively dark atmosphere of his room, showing the fruits of athletic training and personal exercise. Kirumi’s hands trembled involuntarily, though it was not the sight of Ryoma’s bare torso that kept shaking her composure.

The scars on his back told a whole other story, the one that he never shared with anyone, even her. As they lay bare now, Kirumi could not seem to tear her gaze from them. The long ones were made with cuts and slices from a knife, she knew, with some of them running a little deeper than the others. The smaller ones gave more menacing implications; Kirumi sensed that they could either be the marks of previous stab wounds or gunshot wounds. A few of them had formed keloids as they had healed, their glaring appearance standing out against Ryoma’s pale skin. Altogether, they painted the grim, sad picture of Ryoma’s fall from grace, the indelible traces of his infamous crime and the years of incarceration, during which he had been crowned Killer Tennis.

Ryoma’s voice seemed to echo from somewhere far away. “Quite a sight, right?”

Kirumi blinked, her hand gripping the wet face towel limply. When she tried to speak, her mouth felt dry. “Forgive me, I . . . I don’t—” she began, but Ryoma forestalled her as he chuckled softly.

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “It’s not like I can give myself that hot compress, right? Do what you have to do.”

“I . . . Are you sure?” Kirumi asked reluctantly.

“A hundred percent,” replied Ryoma.

Dipping the face towel in hot water once again to make up for its lost heat, Kirumi still did not feel completely reassured that she was doing the right thing, but she moved dutifully nonetheless. Shifting into a more professional mode of work seemed ideal, if only to dispel the slight discomfiture and reluctance that she was feeling, but another glance at Ryoma’s scarred back made her balk once more. Concentrating on steadying her fingers and her poise, she folded the towel and pressed it against the center of Ryoma’s shoulder blades. Ryoma let out a relieved sigh, no doubt savoring the sensation of warmth that he was feeling as it soothed his aching muscles. Encouraged by his comfort, Kirumi pushed her palm down gently on the towel and began to massage the muscles beneath, kneading them in a slow, circular motion to ease out the knots in them.

“You’re good at that,” Ryoma remarked after a while. “Reminds me of those cooldown periods and therapy sessions we’d get after every game or week of training, to help us recover faster.”

“Was that how it was when you trained with your fellow players?” asked Kirumi, grateful that there was something to discuss that would keep her focused on something other than his naked torso or the scars on his back.

“Yeah. Our coaches gave us access to a lot of facilities and comforts that would help us deliver on a consistent basis,” said Ryoma. “We’d get sent to recovery lounges and spas after long days of practicing, do R&R in these nice hotels and training centers—all supervised and stuff, so that we won’t try anything funny. It was pretty neat, though I’m not exactly that big into those kinds of things. Sometimes, just being in my apartment resting for the day is enough, but my old tennis mates loved the R&R. The only thing I availed most of the time was getting massage therapy after training too hard. I was always intense and hell-bent on giving my all, so I pushed myself a lot farther and more often than I needed. I remember how Isabella would always tell me off about that, saying that I’d end up injuring myself or worse.”

Kirumi smiled. “She’s right about that, you know?”

Ryoma chuckled silently at that. “Yeah, but I never was one to listen to sound advice back then. The adrenaline rush was always good, and the feeling of success when you win matches made it feel even better . . . addicting, to a point. So I’d keep pushing myself, and she’d keep scolding me for overexerting myself. But it was nothing too serious, of course. I knew when it was time to hold back, and she knew that I was only trying hard in order to help myself and my career. If I ended up overexerting myself because of my recklessness and intensity, she’d be there to help me recover.”

The fondness in his voice made Kirumi feel for him. The more Ryoma seemed to talk about Isabella, the more she felt like an unwarranted outsider listening in on his most personal thoughts.

“I’m sure that . . . that she would be happy to see you like this now,” she told him softly. “To see you picking yourself back up, preparing for what’s coming.”

Ryoma looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes bearing a mixture of heaviness and appreciation. “You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.” Kirumi could not stop herself from smiling again at him. “In spite of everything, I’m sure that she would want you to be happy, to begin moving on from the past and everything that has been holding you down thus far.”

Though he seemed likely to once again put himself down for trying, Ryoma seemed to think the better of it. “Maybe, and about time too, don’t you think?”

“These things do take a while, especially for those of us who have been through a lot,” said Kirumi. “Don’t berate yourself for trying so late, Ryoma. Your growth is a good sign, no matter how long it took for you to get it, and especially after everything you’ve gone through. If you will, it makes me extremely glad that you’re starting to take more and more of these steps.”

Again, Ryoma glanced at her over his shoulder. “Again, I have you to thank for most of that,” he said. “I don’t think I can ever appreciate enough everything you continue to do for me. All the support, all the help . . . it’s like being with Isabella again, to be honest. But . . . no, I don’t know if I should be thinking of it like that,” he added with a shake of his head.

As he looked away, Kirumi noticed a faint flush creep into his ears. It was the first time she had seen such a reaction from him, and for some reason, it made her feel more self-conscious than the sight of his bare torso did. She decided to keep her gaze down and continue her work.

Her administered therapy continued for the next half hour, with their talk shifting to minor topics. Kirumi recounted her earlier experiences with Gundham and Teruteru, with Ryoma expressing particular interest in how she had helped Gundham with his stray cat problem. Soon, their talk turned to her experiences with the rest of Class 77-B’s denizens, as Ryoma inquired about how often she tended to their duties and whether she was being treated fairly by them and the rest of the student body.

“As long as no one’s giving you any trouble, that’s good,” Ryoma told her. “People can be a little pushy and demanding sometimes.”

“I know, but most of it is no trouble to me,” said Kirumi as she returned from his bathroom, having gotten a fresh batch of hot water to use. “And even if it gets stressful, it is part of being a maid, I’m afraid. For as long as people need my services, I will do my best to keep delivering, no matter how hard it is to deal with some people.”

Ryoma nodded, though his demeanor seemed rather concerned still. “How about free time? You do have free time, right?”

“Yes.”

“What do you usually do then?”

Kirumi paused. Admittedly, it was the first time that she had been asked what she does outside of her maid duties. “Not much, to be honest, she replied after a brief while. “My schedule changes depending on how many tasks I need to take care of, but even then, most of my free time starts when I’m back in my room at last, usually after the cafeteria has been closed and the kitchens have been cleaned.”

“That’s quite late,” Ryoma noted.

“That’s how it has been for me all this time,” Kirumi admitted. “After that, I just read in my room and finish my nightly rituals before going to sleep. It’s not the best kind of routine, but it’s how my work goes.”

Ryoma was silent for a few moments, his eyes looking ponderous as he glanced again at her. “I just hope you don’t burn out or anything,” he said at last. “The road to September’s gonna be a rough one, and there are still the festivals to come before the practical exam. I’m just . . . worried sometimes.”

Kirumi looked up from her work. “Worried?”

“For you, of course.”

The silence that descended then seemed to outdo the one that had prevailed when Ryoma’s scars had been revealed. Kirumi felt her hands fumble for a fleeting moment as she tried to both keep working and dwell on Ryoma’s words, seized by an emotion that she could not quite fathom yet. For a long time, no one spoke, and the only sound that pierced through the silence was the sound of Kirumi’s hands plunging into the depths of the wash basin once again.

“I know that seems awkward and all, especially from out of the blue like that,” Ryoma said at last. “It’s just that . . . yours is the one of the most challenging talents around here, and it’s nothing short of remarkable that you’re delivering on a consistent scale. Just . . . don’t forget about yourself, too. You’re not just some dutiful servant, Kirumi. You’re also a good person, and as a friend that you’re helping, I hope I can do my part in helping you too when you need it, and in making sure you’re okay.”

Even though Ryoma said those words in a serious manner, Kirumi could easily feel the sense of concern in them, and for the first time ever, her heart seemed to skip a beat. All throughout her experiences as a maid, she had never encountered anything quite like this, even with all the former employers who had heaped praise on her for her diligence and skill—or even with her schoolmates who treated her as an equal, like Kaede and Shuichi and the others. Perhaps it was the fact that Ryoma’s words sounded so personal, so direct, that made them seem quite different from the rest; perhaps it was the fact that, in spite of his scars, his traumatic past and the loss of his loved ones, his heart was still in the right place, even though he seemed unlikely to admit it up front; and when she remembered as well the gifts he had given her before . . .

As she glanced away for a moment, Kirumi could feel a flush creeping into her face. “That . . . That’s very kind of you to say, Ryoma,” she managed to say, her soft, calm tone belying the discomfiture she was feeling. “I appreciate your concern wholeheartedly. It is more than I would ever expect.”

“It’s fine,” said Ryoma. “You deserve that much, and a lot more.”

With that, he turned away, as if too embarrassed by the heartfelt nature of his own words to say anything more. Kirumi smiled and refocused on her work, her movements and gestures filled a renewed sense of purpose, brought along by a feeling of joy that she could scarcely describe.

Fifteen minutes later, everything resumed normally as Kirumi cleaned up after her impromptu therapy session. Ryoma had quickly worn a new prison shirt as soon as they were done, wiping his face and arms clean with the face towel Kirumi had used for his hot compress therapy.

“I hope you’re feeling a lot better,” Kirumi said.

“Definitely,” said Ryoma, setting down the face towel and stretching his arms a little more easily now. “These aches won’t give me that much trouble tomorrow after what you did. Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome. If you need anything else, you need only ask.” Kirumi bowed and turned to pick up her things. As she was about to leave, however, she turned and looked back over her shoulder.

“Ryoma?”

“Yeah?” said Ryoma, looking up at her.

“About those planned dishes Teruteru has cooked for tonight . . . would you like me to bring you some later? Sakura has mentioned a number of times before that a good meal works best after a good workout.”

Ryoma stared at her for a few seconds, surprise evident in his eyes. “Is . . . Is that gonna be okay with you?”

Kirumi smiled. “A hundred percent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! I just want to take this time to deliver some news—basically, I was approached by a friend for a copyediting and developmental editing project involving another friend's book, which they wish to have published. Being given the job, I am now juggling between editing said book weekly while trying to write my fanfic chapters on the side (it's also the reason this chapter was delayed for a little longer—it was supposed to be done a week ago, but that was the time my friend talked to me about his project). As such, I have no idea yet as to how severely this might affect my chapter uploads in the future, but I will do my best to keep delivering as I always do. I apologize in advance if future uploads take longer again.
> 
> Anyways, that's all for now. I hope this chapter turns in a good read for you all. Stay safe, and see you in the next upload!


	9. Rumors and Requests

Though it was not specified in its brochures, Hope’s Peak Academy was a place of firsts.

As Ryoma felt his fingers curl around the tennis ball in his left hand, the racket ready in his right, he knew he could at least stand by such a notion. The fact that he was now once again trying to practice tennis basics was but one testament to those many firsts. The school was the first institution that had dared to spend a lot of time and effort to foster the growth of a convicted criminal like him. It was the first time in years that he had felt some semblance of a normal life, free of the hardship of prison. It was the first time he had seen many students join together in a dynamic sense of solidarity that, while occasionally turbulent, was filled with the hope for a bright future, reluctant as he still was to join them.

And then, just a couple of days ago, he had bared his scars for the first time.

Granted, it was not technically a first, given how many prison inmates and guards had seen the marks of his gruesome past, whether it was in being beaten routinely as some sick form of chastisement for going against a crooked organization, or getting into rough fights with inmates venting their frustrations out on him, or something that could have gone worse. But to show those scars and welts to an actual friend, let alone a friend like Kirumi Tojo, that was something that stuck with him long after the day had passed. Even now, he could still remember her firm touches, driven by both duty and a desire to help a friend, as her hands and fingers pressed against his back. Ryoma knew he could push down his musings about the encounter all he wanted, but there was no denying how quickly his heart raced then, both with trepidation and, curiously, another feeling he could not quite guess.

He checked the time and saw that it was nearing five o’clock in the afternoon. Being busy with some students in the other classes, Kirumi had requested that they take the day off concerning their gym workout, and Ryoma was more than glad to let her be for now. Their growing closeness had escalated to newer, even more meaningful heights, but it did not come without certain consequences.

Not long after the two of them were spotted going together in his room still in their full gym attire, rumors had begun to fly within their class—and perhaps even beyond it, considering that he and Kirumi were well-known for being a once-great athlete and an admired maid, respectively. As wishy-washy as he often was, Kokichi had mischievously thrown the question about their private encounter in the air without revealing whether he saw them together or whether the rumor came from him first. Still, the fuse had been lit, and the stares and the questions followed. Ryoma would not have minded if the questions and jokes came his way, since he knew that there was no hanky-panky that happened, but nearly all of the queries and jabs seemed to be directed at Kirumi, given how she was the one people talked to more often. The Ultimate Maid seemed to take things in stride well enough, though Ryoma could not help but feel ashamed for dragging her into such a mess in the first place. He had privately expressed a desire to talk to her about it, though the chance never came. Then again, Ryoma had a lot of thoughts that he wanted to tell Kirumi about, though he was starting to hold back before they became too much.

It was then that he remembered the activity at hand. Snapping back to reality, he dribbled the tennis ball a few times on the floor of his room, tapping against it lightly with his racket. With a more forceful swing, he sent it bouncing towards the ceiling and fought the urge to strike it in a full serve. Naturally, such a move would not do in the limited space of his room, lest he let the ball rampage like a bullet and smash whatever it touched. Ryoma caught the ball instead with a hint of regret, wondering whether he should seize the chance that he had been considering for a while now.

 _Maybe later,_ he mused as he began to dribble again. Even so, that was the response he had been going with for the past couple of days already. Whether it was because the chance fizzled out at the last moment due to some unexpected development, or whether he was still holding back, Ryoma could not say.

After his dribbling practice, he shifted to some basic racket serves and strokes, all without a ball. It was a bit more livening compared to just practicing dribbles, though also lackluster and awkward given the absence of an actual rally or even a tennis ball machine to trade some good shots with. _It’s like I’m just swatting huge, invisible flies._

When he was done, he left his room to go for a short walk around the school. He passed by Kiyotaka Ishimaru at the corridor, narrowly avoiding another dressing-down from the Ultimate Moral Compass for his prison attire since classes were over for the day. Keebo was wandering the corridors reading a book in deep thought, being tailed without his knowledge by a smiling Kokichi looking to cause some trouble. And on one of the small benches that lined the hallway, he spotted Hajime Hinata sitting with a girl with light mauve hair and a sleepy look in her pale pink eyes, watching her play a video game from a small portable console. When he looked up and saw Ryoma, he gave him a smile and a wave.

As Ryoma rounded the corner leading to the faculty room, he spotted Tsumugi Shirogane in the distance, carrying a sizeable stack of prints in her arms and teetering as she tried to keep them balanced. Ryoma hastened his pace and went over to her.

“Need a hand?” he proffered when he was close enough for her to hear.

Tsumugi looked around for a moment, expecting to see someone next to her. Only when she cast her gaze downward did she spot him. “Oh, hello there, Ryoma!” she greeted with a nervous smile. “Um, are you sure it’s fine with you?”

“I got you.” With that, Ryoma took up two thirds of the stacks and hefted them in his arms, leaving the Ultimate Cosplayer to heave a sigh of relief at her significantly lightened burden.

“Where do you need these?” he asked her.

“At the Student Council’s office,” Tsumugi replied, leading the way. “Mr. Kizakura needed someone to bring them there, and I was walking by the faculty room by chance. I hope this really isn’t a bother to you.”

“No problem,” Ryoma grunted. “Besides, I haven't fallen so far that I'd ignore a girl struggling to carry so many things.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” said Tsumugi. “To be honest, I didn’t really expect to be asked to run an errand like this again, even though I’m so plain.”

“You think that’s really a factor on whether or not you get called for an errand?”

“Well, I’m not a glowing heroine like Kaede is, right? Compared to her, I’m just a bland side character.”

Ryoma shrugged. “It's probably because you're the diligent type who'd make sure to do it right, don't you think?” he suggested. “The teachers know that much. Whether you stand out or not shouldn't matter.”

Tsumugi smiled at him again. “You didn’t need to put a positive spin on it, but that’s nice of you to say. Not a lot of boys would do this kind of thing. I guess that stuff just happens in light novels with bishounen protags with their handsome smiles and sparkling eyes, melting even the hearts of tsunderes, making danderes blush and sending the hearts of squealing genki girls aflutter.”

She heaved a dreamy sigh before hovering back down to Earth. “A-Ah, sorry about that, I got a little too off topic there. Anyway, thanks for helping me, Ryoma.”

Feeling a lot older than he was, Ryoma only had the faintest idea of the anime-related terms Tsumugi mentioned, but he nodded nonetheless. “I’m glad to help. No need to thank me for something like this.”

“With that kind of attitude, I’m sure you’re popular with the girls,” Tsumugi teased lightly. “You probably get a lot of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, right?”

Somehow, the mental image of it made Ryoma chuckle. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me. What made you think so?”

The Ultimate Cosplayer giggled. “Compared to other boys your age, you're levelheaded, and you’re also good at sports. I mean, how often do you know someone who’s a tennis champ like you are, right? And . . . well, it might be a troublesome topic for you, but guys with a dark side can be attractive.”

Ryoma grunted, his mirth hitting a snag. He wondered whether Tsumugi knew that his dark side had a lot more depth than just his aloofness and attire. “Well, I won't deny that I've got a dark side, but any girl who really knew me would run away,” he said bluntly.

“But Kirumi didn’t, right?”

Ryoma looked around at her, surprised. Tsumugi’s smile had a knowing air that he was starting to see in their class all too often now. Almost immediately, he looked away, but it was too late. “The look in your eyes says it all, Hoshi-kun,” she told him with a facetious air. “It’s pretty cute, to be honest.”

Ignoring her comment about whatever cuteness the Ultimate Cosplayer might see in his reaction, Ryoma cleared his throat. “Kirumi’s just been . . . helping me out, that’s all,” he said in a reluctant effort to clear things up.

“Hmph. I can already hear Miu having a hundred different reactions to such a vague statement,” Tsumugi tutted. “Anyway, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it, Ryoma. Romance always blooms in these high school scenarios, yes. Personally, I prefer watching from the sidelines instead of taking part in any of it. I’m too plain to be a choice for any romance routes.”

Ryoma sighed inwardly, wondering if he should protest more about what Tsumugi was inferring. He knew deep in his bones it was anything but romance, though that did nothing to explain why he sometimes lost sleep thinking of the Ultimate Maid or why he kept remembering Isabella because of her.

“Kirumi’s a nice person and all. Very supportive, and extremely patient,” he said instead. “But I doubt that she’s the kind of person who’s into what you’re saying.”

“Hey, don’t count things out just yet!” Tsumugi told him. “I think one of the reasons Kirumi’s not too talkative about her bonding with you is because she doesn’t want anyone to know about her super-secret feelings, even you. It’s always the quiet types who have stuff to hide, right? Romantic confessions and character development don’t come this early into the arc, after all!”

Knowing that it might be pointless to argue any further for now, Ryoma shook his head. “She’s just being professional, as she often is,” he proffered.

When they reached the Student Council’s office, they ran into a bespectacled girl with short, brownish green hair who was about to enter. “Ah, e-excuse me!” Tsumugi called out, drawing her attention. “Are you part of the Student Council?”

The girl turned towards them with a small smile. “Yes. I’m Karen Kisaragi, the secretary. How may I help you?”

“We’re delivering these flyers to your office.” Tsumugi indicated the stacks she and Ryoma were carrying. “Mr. Kizakura asked us to bring them over—w-well, just me, and then my friend Ryoma here helped out.”

“Oh, I see!” Karen Kisaragi clicked her tongue. “Sosuke was supposed to get them, but I guess he forgot. Anyway, I’m deeply sorry if this was an inconvenience to you,” she added hastily with a polite bow.

“Oh no, it was nothing,” said Tsumugi cordially. “Anyway, do we just leave these flyers in your office or something?”

“Ah, yes! Hold on a sec, let me get the door for you two.” With that, the secretary opened the office door and let the two of them pass. Tsumugi and Ryoma deposited the stacks onto a nearby desk and exited the office together. After exchanging a cordial farewell with Kisaragi before she entered the office, Tsumugi turned to Ryoma again with a smile.

“Thanks again for the help, Ryoma,” she said warmly.

“It’s nothing,” said Ryoma with a nod. “Anyway, I should get going. Don’t let me keep y—”

“Excuse me,” a serious female voice said, interrupting their brief exchange.

The two of them turned around, and Ryoma raised his eyebrows as he recognized a familiar face. The red-eyed, silver-haired girl before him was someone that he had seen only fleetingly before, in the dim light of the swimming pool area on the second floor. Her twin braids and black ribbons swung lightly as she approached the two of them with poise and purpose, her strides long and sure. Just like before, there was a long object slung across her back like a sword, wrapped in dark turquoise-colored cloth with the pattern of a silver dragon on it.

“Ryoma Hoshi?” she said, peering at him from beneath her rectangular eyeglasses.

Ryoma straightened up. “Yes.”

Tsumugi cleared her throat. “I guess it’s time for plain ol’ me to vanish,” she said. “There’s only enough room for one glasses girl in this scene, methinks. Anyway, I’ll see you around, Ryoma!”

She gave him a friendly wave and walked off in the opposite direction, leaving the two of them behind. The silver-haired girl waited until she had rounded the corner and vanished from sight before speaking again. “Before anything else, please allow me to introduce myself first.” She inclined her head politely and announced, “I am Peko Pekoyama, the Ultimate Swordswoman.”

Ryoma mused on that for a moment, taking note of the wrapped sword on her back and the way Peko’s red eyes flashed. “Any particular reason you approached me out of the blue like this?” he asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” said Peko.

Knowing that it would be pointless to refuse, Ryoma nodded. “Go ahead.”

Peko nodded again. “My young m—” she began, but she cut herself off almost immediately, speaking with more care and formality when she continued. “My good friend and classmate Fuyuhiko has talked about you a number of times before, back when you . . . when you ran into us at the swimming pool area. I take it you remember us both?”

 _The Ultimate Yakuza,_ Ryoma mused. “I do. Does he want something from me? I don’t want any trouble, I told him that.”

“No, nothing of the sort,” said Peko. “It’s just that he seemed inclined to speak with you since that day, but he did not know how to do so, as you were in another class most of the time. That is why . . . if you can, please speak with him. Perhaps it will put his mind about that particular issue at ease.”

“Sounds like my encounter with him was more of a bother than I first realized,” Ryoma noted quietly. “I’ll admit, I didn’t want to talk to him then because I thought it’d cause trouble. I mean, you two _do_ know what I am, right?”

Peko drew up a little straighter, seemingly knowing that his allusion ran deeper than a feeble attempt at intimidation. “Yes, we do,” she said with a solemn tone. “But whatever reasons Fuyuhiko might have for wanting to talk to you, I can assure you that it is not what you might be thinking of. You have my word.”

Ryoma considered it for a moment, still wondering what exactly the Ultimate Yakuza wanted from him to the point where his presence would be much appreciated. Try as he might, nothing good came from the guesses he cooked up, given his past experiences with the mob. Still, the Ultimate Swordswoman seemed sincere enough as she spoke to him, even with her aura of serious intensity. Moreover, he remembered Kirumi’s words from before. If Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu did want trouble, he would have quite the difficulty managing the aftermath in a school like Hope’s Peak, even as the heir of a prestigious clan.

“Very well,” Ryoma decided. “If I get some time and I see him somewhere around the school, maybe I’ll try talking to him.”

If Peko seemed relieved at his response, she hid it well beneath her stone-faced primness. “Thank you. I’m sure Fuyuhiko would appreciate the chance. Oh, and before I forget . . .” At that, the Ultimate Swordswoman hesitated for a second, looking around behind her as if checking for any eavesdroppers. “If you do end up talking to him, please do not tell him that I asked you to, or that I came to you on my own volition to tell you about his wishes. I want him to feel at ease, though with no intention of letting him know when I do things like this. I . . . I hope you understand.”

 _Looking out for a friend, eh?_ Ryoma had to appreciate that, especially since it made him remember Kirumi as well. “Alright, no problem,” he assured her.

“Thank you.” With that, Peko turned and left as swiftly as she had arrived, leaving him to muse on his thoughts in the quiet corridor.

* * *

Dinner came as a curious affair later that evening. Instead of the customary dinnertime that he and Kirumi shared, Ryoma was approached and asked by Rantaro to join the rest of the class at the cafeteria, with the Ultimate Adventurer telling him that it was an affair requested by Kaede. Ryoma had no idea what the gathering would presage, though if he had to guess he knew that it would have something to do with September drawing nearer by the day. Ever their willing and able class representative, Kaede had been inspiring everyone in the class to participate and mingle more and more in the spirit of class solidarity. Ryoma would have preferred having dinner once again with Kirumi in his room, though he sensed that refusing Kaede’s invite for that would only lead to more rumors.

A quarter of the class had already gathered at a long table close to the cafeteria windows by the time Ryoma arrived with Rantaro, Keebo and Gonta in tow. With his usual innocent optimism, the towering Ultimate Entomologist expressed his joy both at the idea of having dinner with everyone else as well as the fact that Ryoma was joining them. Keebo and Rantaro echoed the same sentiments, making Ryoma feel a little more at ease at the thought of joining his classmates in a place other than the confines of their classroom.

“Oh, you came!” Tsumugi chirped when she saw him. “Good to see you joining us for this one, Ryoma!”

“As Atua has foreseen, our beloved Ryoma truly is starting to shed his proverbial shell,” Angie remarked sweetly, her ocean-blue eyes glimmering. “Oh, how He shall laugh to see our assembly tonight! All that remains to complete the mood are naked beauties dancing around a roaring flame!”

“If you ask me, your crummy little island’s just a haven for weird-ass orgies, ya preachy bobblehead,” Miu remarked. “Anyway, is Bakamatsu gonna show up soon or what? I got stuff to do all night long! I ain’t got time for this dinnertime shit!”

“I don’t think she’ll take too long to arrive now, Miu,” said Keebo, sitting down next to her. “She just delivered some signed forms to Headmaster Kirigiri’s office.”

“Speaking of dinnertime, why are _you_ here, Keeboy?” asked Kokichi with a playful grin, sitting at the opposite end of the table. “Robots can’t eat, right?”

Keebo shot him a rueful glare. “I-I know, but it’s rather robophobic if I can’t sit with you all just because I can’t eat food.”

“Ah, don’t listen to the checkered pipsqueak, Keebone,” Miu told him. “I’m working on something extra to help you with that eating function you wanted to have.”

Keebo’s face lit up at that. “Wait, r-really, Miu?! You’re going to push through with that?!”

Miu winked; her reaction was quite unlike the flustered outburst she had made a week ago. “Duh-doy! I told you before, Miu fuckin’ Iruma’s got your back! Just let me keep working on this and I’ll have my first test up and running just for you in the next couple of days! And that’s a promise!”

As Keebo smiled excitedly and Miu cackled with pride, Kokichi sighed and shook his head. “PDA is against the rules, right?” he joked. “Next thing you know, they’ll take it up a more vulgar step and start _holding hands_ ,” he added, pulling an exaggerated expression of disgust.

“I think it’s rather sweet,” said Tsumugi. “Who are we to stop romance from blooming, right?”

Rantaro grinned next to Ryoma. “Agreed. It’s always fun to see people getting closer. Right, Ryoma?” he said with a wink.

Ryoma heaved a sigh as Tsumugi and Kokichi smiled at him knowingly as well. Thankfully, the arrival of Korekiyo, Tenko and Himiko put a stop to his thoughts before he could say anything. Soon, they were joined by Shuichi, Kaede, Maki and Kaito, leaving only Kirumi missing. Ryoma glanced around the busy cafeteria, wondering exactly how the Ultimate Maid would join them if she was still helping out in the kitchens as she did every single evening. For a moment, he was seized by a small desire to check on her, but that was forestalled when Kaede spoke up.

“I think we should just wait for Kirumi to arrive before we all get on with this,” she told them, looking around at them gathered on the table. She smiled. “Anyway, I’m glad you all made it tonight.”

“Gonta happy to know that he and friends would have dinner together!” Gonta remarked enthusiastically. “Gonta promise to eat without making a mess, like true gentleman!”

Korekiyo let out a soft titter, the sound barely a whisper as it came from beneath his sage green mask. “Good to see that even within the seemingly mundane atmosphere of ordinary school life, encounters such as this are still seen as both productive and gratifying,” he said. “No doubt they will be helpful in keeping our spirits up should our preparations for September begin to take its toll on our focus and resolve.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” said Rantaro. “I’ll be sure to miss a gathering like this once I leave for Malta.”

“Malta? Is that where your seafaring travels will take you next, Rantaro?” asked the Ultimate Anthropologist.

“Afraid so,” replied Rantaro. “Quite far, though not a place I haven’t been to before. I just figured that a few days there will help me with my exhibit come September.”

“Then I wish you well on your journey there,” said Korekiyo. “I will look forward to our discussion when you get back.”

“If you can, maybe you can pass by my island, Rantaro!” Angie joined in, her hands clasped and her eyes sparkling all over again. “It’s a shame that I wouldn’t be there to receive you, but my people will gladly take any offerings you might want to leave! We’ve even got some really _intense_ celebrations to help get your blood moving before you make an offering!”

“Er, I think I’ll take a raincheck on that for now, Angie,” said Rantaro with a nervous laugh.

“Gonta happy to visit Angie’s island one day!” the Ultimate Entomologist said, his smile belying his wild appearance. “Maybe Gonta also find many interesting bugs there!”

Angie let out a giggle of delight. “My people would be glad to have you, Gonta. A person of your size will definitely be able to give us more than a few pints of blood. If you plan on visiting, just remember to stop by on Mondays and Wednesdays—that’s when the truck comes round to pick up offerings!”

Gonta looked puzzled for a moment, but Tsumugi saved him the trouble of figuring out the Ultimate Artist’s rather macabre request by asking him about his insect catches for the day. Unperturbed, Angie turned to engage in a cheerful conversation with Tenko and Himiko, as if she had not just asked someone to donate pints of blood in such a nonchalant manner.

Ryoma heard Kaito Momota speak up near the other end of the table, putting an arm around Shuichi in a brotherly gesture. “Good thing we all managed to finish before we were called to gather here, eh? Anyway, what say you, Shuichi? Wanna go for a hundred push-ups and sit-ups tomorrow?”

“A hundred?!” Shuichi cried out, looking startled. “B-But you said we can take it slow by adding ten per week, right? That means we should only stick to fifty for this week!”

“Momota, you can’t even finish thirty by yourself without slacking off on the rest,” Maki Harukawa remarked with thinly veiled disapproval. “All you do is just sit around and run your mouth while we keep going.”

Kaito laughed at that. “I don’t need to train that hard at the gym. I do all my excess training in my room, after all. Besides, I’m the Luminary of the Stars! It’s my job to make sure that my sidekicks give it their best shot!”

“I told you never to call me a sidekick,” said Maki tersely.

“That’s not quite fair, Kaito,” said Shuichi, putting on a brave face that belied the nervousness he was showing. “You said that we’re all gonna do this together, right?”

“I know, and it’s my job to make sure that you and Maki Roll are doing well, even if it means sacrificing my own workouts!” Kaito said readily, his teeth almost shining in the light of the cafeteria as he grinned.

Maki’s red eyes flashed. “Do you want to die?”

Not long after everyone else had shown up, Kirumi arrived from the kitchens. If the Ultimate Maid was tired from having helped with the cooking and cleaning and everything else that came with her evening duties, she did not show it. As always, she moved with poise and efficiency, and after telling them of tonight’s menu, she took their dinner requests one by one and left once again to take care of things. As out of place as Ryoma was starting to feel with everyone else chatting around him, his hunger had reared its head, and he settled for a serving of beef curry. Without the privacy of his room, it felt rather embarrassing to ask for Kirumi’s services like she was an ordinary waitress, but the Ultimate Maid was all cordial business. Everyone started talking again when she left, and Ryoma took this time to observe the cafeteria instead. Familiar faces passed by, picking up food and sitting down at tables in smaller groups. Aoi Asahina and Sakura Ogami sat together at one table, with the Ultimate Swimmer chatting on eagerly while the Ultimate Martial Artist ate in solemn silence. Ryoma also espied the mauve-haired girl that Hajime Hinata had been with earlier, engrossed again in her video game console while her female friends ate and chatted around her. On a distant corner, Peko Pekoyama was sitting alone and eating in complete silence as she observed a small group at another table that Ryoma guessed were her classmates; Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu was there, looking extremely peeved as he argued with a thin, pink-haired boy wearing a grey beanie and a blue jumpsuit. Next to them, a girl with short red hair was snapping pictures of them and the neighboring tables with a camera.

Class 80-A’s table talk hit a small pause as food was soon served, being rolled out onto a cart by Kirumi herself in no less than five minutes. Ryoma knew that the food was already cooked and ready to be served once students started arriving, but the fact that it took Kirumi such a short time to prepare everything perfectly for all fifteen of them was undoubtedly a testament to her skill as the Ultimate Maid. She gave them all an amiable smile as she sat down with them at the table, though she opted to eat only a meager bowl of rice porridge and—to Ryoma’s surprise—one of the bean buns that he had bought for her recently. When their eyes met across the table, he could only nod back at her smile. The small interaction did not go unnoticed, however, as Kaede, Tsumugi and Rantaro glanced at him with furtive grins. _If they knew I gave her that bean bun, they’d never let us hear the end of it._

Five minutes into their meal, Kaede spoke up again. “Alright, I think it’s time to tell you guys exactly why I was busy before all this, and why I gathered you all here.”

“Spare us any speeches and get on with it, Miss Dumpy Tits!” Miu snapped as she mixed up her food with a spoon.

Kaede shot her a nasty look for the rude interruption, but opted to get on with business nonetheless. “We’ve received word about the first upcoming event we have. It’ll be the summer sports festival.”

The reactions varied as they swept across the table. Kaito pounded his fist on the table with glee, Angie giggled and clapped her hands, and Tenko let out a cry of triumphant delight; Kokichi frowned like a small child deep in thought, Himiko groaned audibly, and Miu clicked her tongue in annoyance. Elsewhere, the reactions were so-so as the rest of the class seemingly accepted the prospect with either enthusiasm or silent resignation, or even a mixture of both. Ryoma himself heaved a sigh, but no one else seemed to notice other than Kirumi, who looked at him from across the table with eyes full of understanding and even a bit of worry. _Well, at least September will be easier to deal with after a dry run at that sports festival,_ he mused to himself, though that also meant that he might need to start practicing for real soon. As reluctant and awkward as he still felt, the last thing he wanted was to look like an utter fool once the inevitable came.

“What kind of uncut losers would want us to waste our time with _that_?” Miu snapped. “As if I don’t have enough shit to worry about already!”

“It might be interesting, though,” said Keebo. “I’ll admit, I don’t know what sports I might excel in, but that can be fixed with some more reading, I think.”

“Don’t worry, Keebo,” said Tsumugi. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine! I mean, you’re a robot, after all.”

Keebo frowned. “I don’t know if that was robophobic or not, but . . . thank you, I guess?”

“When is it going to take place?” Maki asked quietly.

“In two or three weeks, depending on what they might announce next week,” Kaede replied, ignoring Miu’s second outburst. “They briefed us class reps earlier about it, and they told us that everyone needs to participate in at least one event at the festival, no exceptions. When the official announcement’s made, they’ll send us a list of events, and we can start discussing who’ll join which.”

“Good thing my trip’s already next week,” said Rantaro. “In case I’m not yet around for the sign-ups, though, you guys can sign me up on wherever I’m needed. Any event is fine with me.”

“Gonta also happy to join many events!” Gonta exclaimed. “Gonta not know any sports, but Gonta do his best!”

“I should start my physical conditioning as early as possible,” said Tenko eagerly. “Can’t wait to train with Sakura at the dojo again for this! I wonder what kind of events they’ll have. It’d be nice to compete with the other classes—on friendly terms, of course!”

Himiko sighed. “It already sounds like a real pain to me.”

“Keep your chin up, Himiko!” Tenko told her, smiling. “Whatever you do, I’m sure you’ll do just fine as long as you give it your best shot. You’ve got your magic with you, after all!”

“Sports don’t allow magic,” said Himiko. “That makes them even more of a pain to deal with. The last time I played some kind of sport for a festival, I ended up taking a ball to the face, and I wasn’t even part of the match yet. I wanted to turn the culprit into a frog, but even that was against the rules.”

“Hey, Ryoma? You gonna play for the festival?”

Ryoma looked up at the mention of his name. Kaito was staring directly at him, his voice carrying across the table even as the others kept talking around them. He was not the only one who had heard, however; Kirumi sat up straighter in her seat, while Shuichi glanced from Ryoma to Kaito with a worried look on his face, as if he had seen something similar happen before—which it had.

“I don’t know,” Ryoma grunted in reply.

Kaito scoffed. “Man, you’ve already got a chance to start playing again, and you’re gonna tell me that you don’t know? An athlete at your level ought to say stuff like ‘I’ll take on any challenge!’”

“It’s been a while since I was on any level,” said Ryoma.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get back to it!” Kaito snapped, his eyes flashing like a hero inspiring the masses with a pep talk. “You rejoined the class and all, but I still haven’t heard anything from you about wanting to play tennis again! Where’s the fire you had back in your glory days?! Where’s the Ryoma Hoshi that people saw on television running foreign athletes into the dirt?! Why don’t you seize this chance, man? It’s already in front of your face, so there’s no way you can ignore it!”

Ryoma sighed, painfully aware that this small but loud conversation was starting to draw the attention of their other classmates, thanks in no small part to Kaito’s boisterous tone. Angie was watching them with wide-eyed curiosity, while Tsumugi, Gonta and Keebo looked rather worried at the possibility of a quarrel breaking out. _How does Shuichi or Maki even put up with this?_

“Please, no arguments while we’re having dinner,” said Kirumi suddenly in a formal tone. “You might disturb the other students.”

A hush descended upon them for a moment, during which Kokichi decided to step in mischievously for the sake of riling things up further. “Ooh, you two just made Mommy mad!” he cried out. He looked over at Ryoma, grinning in that rascally manner that he often did. “We expected better from you, Daddy!”

“‘Daddy?’” Himiko repeated, as if she was only starting to notice the exchange around her.

Kirumi’s expression looked unfathomable, but Ryoma could tell that even she felt embarrassed at the context that Kokichi was insinuating. He straightened up, feeling everyone’s eyes on him for a moment, unable to tell whether Kaito’s misplaced sentiments of motivation or Kokichi’s impish jests irked him more. A short distance to his right, Miu sniggered, and even Korekiyo let out a soft chuckle. Meanwhile, Tenko placed a hand on the table, looking ready to intervene in some way in this growing argument between degenerate males, but Kaede beat her to it.

“Alright, that’s enough, Kokichi,” the Ultimate Pianist said sternly. “There’s no need to pile up on this.”

“Hey, why are you acting like it’s my fault?!” Kokichi protested. “If you wanna tell someone off, do it to the Ultimate Astro-nut over there! He’s the one who started it!”

Kaito glowered at him. “Who are you calling an ‘Astro-nut,’ ya little—?!”

“ _Please,_ ” Kirumi repeated in a firmer tone, and at that, the exchange subsided immediately. Kaito looked away and settled back down on his chair, while Kokichi plopped down in a childish huff. Taking that as a signal, everyone else resumed eating, seemingly content with letting the incident pass into memory.

“Sorry about that,” the Ultimate Astronaut muttered before he resumed eating.

“I’m sowwy too, Mommy,” Kokichi added, his eyes shining with childlike contrition.

Kirumi let out a small sigh, though she did not reprimand Kokichi any further. “Thank you,” she said instead.

As the disorder was finally nipped in the bud, she glanced briefly at Ryoma, who could not help but feel more embarrassed at the fact that she had to step in. _And the rumors will just keep piling up from here._ At the very least, it would make for a good conversation starter the next time that they were alone together.

When dinner was finally over, the class broke up into their own separate groups almost immediately, citing one reason or another as they left the cafeteria. As he walked out into the hallway, Ryoma debated privately on whether or not he would go back to his dorm to practice some more. However, another thought sprang into his head, and he decided to linger in the hallway to wait for Kirumi instead. It was hardly an advisable prospect to be seen alone with her again given the growing rumors in their class, but Ryoma did not want Kirumi to think that he would be avoiding her simply because he was now too embarrassed to be in her company.

Kirumi left the kitchens around twenty minutes later, when the cafeteria was already cleared out. Ryoma hesitated for a moment before going to her back inside the cafeteria, checking briefly to see if Kokichi or anyone else with mischievous intent was spying on them. As he got closer, his footsteps made Kirumi look around, and she smiled when she saw him.

“Are you okay?” Ryoma found himself asking.

Kirumi raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, as if she had taken note of how abrupt his question was. “I’m doing well, thank you. Is everything alright, Ryoma?”

Ryoma heaved a sigh. “Yeah, everything’s just . . . just fine,” he said, clearing his throat as he realized how nervous he was feeling all of a sudden. In an effort to keep talking, he added, “I’m sorry about earlier. With Kaito and Kokichi, I mean. That was a little embarrassing.”

“Ah, that’s fine, no harm done,” said Kirumi earnestly. “Kaito did not press any more matters, thankfully. And as for Kokichi . . .” She looked away briefly, as if out of discomfiture. “He was just being playful as always.”

“Yeah, playful. . .”

A small silence hung between them, during which the emptiness of the cafeteria seemed to weigh down upon their shoulders. Ryoma coughed again, tugging at the brim of his beanie as he pulled it a little over his eyes.

“Are you . . . Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“Not really,” said Kirumi. “I was just about to go back to my dorm room. Why do you ask?”

After looking around again for a brief second, Ryoma said, “I was wondering if we could . . . take a walk outside or something.”

Even in his hearing, the words sounded so awkward that they were almost laughable. Kirumi regarded him in silence for a few seconds, but just when he expected her to refuse, she smiled again. “Very well. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, let me apologize yet again for another long delay. Lots of stuff had happened recently, and it all just left me too burned out and demotivated to write properly. Luckily, with how this chapter ended, I already have the makings of a follow-up that I can start writing soon, so hopefully I'll have a head start that can speed things up for the next upload. I just hope that the project I mentioned in the previous chapter's notes won't complicate things too much. Here's to a smoother turnout!
> 
> Also, I don't think I've expressed this enough before, but I just want to thank everyone who's taken the time to follow and review this story, even with all the delays. I really, truly appreciate it. You guys are a big part of the reason why I wanna do my very best to continue and finish these stories. Whenever any of you leave a review or drop a follow/some kudos, it just makes everything else that's been happening a bit more tolerable. For that, I can never thank you enough. You give this old dog more reasons to keep going, so I wanna do what I can to keep delivering to you all. Take care of yourselves, and stay safe!


	10. A Murderous Encounter

By the time she and Ryoma reached one of the school’s courtyards, Kirumi still found herself at a loss for what to say. As tired as she felt from the day’s hectic happenings, including a certain incident on her end, other feelings were welling up inside her, coloring her slight nervousness with shades of anticipation and something else that she could not guess for now. Still, it was not the kind of emotion that put her on edge; on the contrary, as she walked beside Ryoma, Kirumi found herself feeling at ease, as if the Ultimate Tennis Pro was giving off an aura of ostensible comfort and respite that she could readily bask in after the day’s hectic proceedings.

A half-moon hung in the dark sky above, casting a faint, fey glow upon the school grounds that sat far from the bright lights shining through the windows of the main building. Few students were still out and about, walking along the stone pathways that wound around the school and through the numerous small courtyards. Some had converged upon stone benches, chatting the rest of the evening away before going back to their dormitories.

“Did you eat well?” Ryoma asked, breaking the silence between them. “You didn’t seem to eat much earlier.”

“It was fine,” said Kirumi. “The bean buns you bought helped me get by. Thank you.”

“No problem. I . . . I’m glad you liked them.” Ryoma looked away, looking oddly embarrassed once again. Ever since he had talked to her after their group meal earlier, Kirumi could not help but wonder why exactly he seemed so flustered. Then again, it seemed foolish to second-guess especially after the small incident that occurred between Kaito and Kokichi, when she and Ryoma were inadvertently put on the spot by the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s mischievous remarks. Between that and Kaede’s announcement about the sports festival, Kirumi could not tell which one Ryoma was thinking about more, though she knew for herself which one affected her more for some reason. Kirumi was thankful that she had managed to defuse the situation before it escalated, but there was still a part of her that felt odd when she and Ryoma became the brief center of attention.

Luckily, she knew that the incident from that morning would make for a good distraction to talk about. “Things got even busier today, particularly with Class 78. There was an incident involving one of their members—Toko Fukawa, to be exact. Have you met her yet?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ryoma replied.

“She is the Ultimate Writing Prodigy, and a member of Class 78. I was surprised to find out that she was in Hope’s Peak as well, since I had only ever heard of her from the popular novels my former employers had read. Now, as to what happened earlier, I was running a few errands for Class 78 by transporting some book copies to their classroom, and I saw that Toko appeared to be having a panic attack. Aoi tried to step in to check on her, but Toko just kept pushing her away and complaining about the perfume that their classmate Junko had. Aoi was having trouble calming her down, and so I stepped in to help. That was when she . . .” Kirumi paused for a moment, remembering the exact nature of the events in her mind’s eye.

“When she what?” asked Ryoma, looking up curiously at her.

Folding her hands neatly on her apron, Kirumi said, “Well, Toko was having none of it, and she took off all of a sudden. Unfortunately, her foot caught the edge of a nearby table, and she knocked herself out cold as she hit the floor. That was when her classmates began to panic as well. Fortunately, Sakura was there as well, and I accompanied her as she carried Toko to the clinic.”

Ryoma raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s unfortunate. I hope she’s okay.”

“Mikan took care of her posthaste, administering preliminary treatments and all. Some of Toko’s classmates who had followed us explained to her what happened. But even after we smoothed everything over and I left to carry on to my next tasks, something even odder occurred. Aoi approached me about an hour later to tell me that Toko had gone missing. Apparently, Mikan went back to check on her after her class and found her bed empty.”

“Really?” Ryoma frowned. “Did she get up on her own or something?”

“That’s the problem. No one knew how or where Toko had gone, since she never went back to class or her dorm room,” said Kirumi. “Aoi and Sakura asked for my help in looking for her. It took up the greater part of an hour, but we soon found her lying unconscious once again, this time behind the gymnasium. She woke up not long after, and calmed down enough for Sakura and Aoi to accompany her back to the clinic. Strangely enough, when we asked her how she ended up there, Toko seemed pretty tight-lipped about it. All she asserted was that she had been unconscious all the while, and remembered none of the last hours of the morning.”

They rounded a nearby corner, their shadows meandering across the stone pathways as the lights of the nearby buildings bathed them in a bright yellow glow. Ryoma shook his head as her story finished. “That’s definitely a weird incident if I ever heard of one,” he remarked. “Then again, this school has its share of weird stuff, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ll hear about happenings like that.”

“That is true,” said Kirumi. “To tell you the truth, I had expected it to be a prank of some sort, but Toko’s disposition seemed to indicate otherwise.”

“Do you think she sleepwalked or something?”

“It is plausible, yes. In all respects, I just hope it does not happen again. Such occurrences are as worrisome as students becoming injured through accidents.”

“Or through overexertion.”

As Kirumi looked down at him, Ryoma smiled a little at the jibe he had just poked towards himself. “Sorry, couldn’t quite help myself there,” he said.

“It’s fine,” said Kirumi, grinning as well. More than anything, her memory of his bare, scarred torso stood out more than her sudden shyness at the time, though the dinner that followed later felt all the warmer because of the encounter.

They reached the edge of the large open field behind the school’s main building, right next to a number of bleachers overlooking the wide expanse of trimmed grass. Only a few lights were shining down from the tall posts that stood at certain intervals around the field. In the distance, a caretaker was directing a lawnmower across the greenery, following the straight edges that were marked with white paint.

Ryoma looked pensive as he stared out at the field. “I want to start practicing.”

Kirumi looked over at him. His seriousness was evident on his round face, his eyes fixed with a steely glare ahead. “If you remember, I’ve been warming up and all, trying to get back in some sort of groove for September, and I think it’d be better for me if I just do it somewhere proper, like the gym or here on the open field. I’ve been considering it for a while now, but I always end up getting nowhere with the thought. Maybe I’m just procrastinating or something.”

“Some might call it that, though you have your reasons for being reluctant about it,” Kirumi noted. “Nonetheless, it’s a good thing to consider, a reassuring follow-up to your growing drive to keep doing better.”

Ryoma grimaced. “Hopefully I’ll be able to make the most of it. I’ve still got a ways to go.”

Kirumi regarded him for a moment. “You’re wondering whether you’d live up to the expectations, particularly the ones you impose on yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that,” Ryoma admitted. “There’s still a part of me that thinks messing this up is just another failure I have to deal with in a life filled with them. If that’s the case, it should be easy enough to live with it. But there’s also a part of me that . . . _wants_ to be competitive again, to actually take on this with the same kind of seriousness that I used to have. It feels off, though. Pretty laughable, even.”

“But there is nothing to laugh at about that,” said Kirumi immediately. “It just means that you’re slowly realizing that there is still potential left in you, the potential to succeed at something like this in the same way you have succeeded in your past endeavors as a tennis champion. It shows how far you’ve gotten since coming here.”

“Maybe,” said Ryoma as he took out a candy cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips, chewing grimly, “but if I’m gonna go any further, it’s obvious that my room isn’t the best place to keep practicing for it. Throwing the ball around and mimicking a serve . . . it’s like I’m not even doing it seriously.”

“You are. Your desire to practice outside of your room is a testament to your commitment,” said Kirumi. “If you wish, I can help you with finding a suitable place to practice in, and create a schedule that would not clash with your usual routines.”

Ryoma sighed. “Yeah, if I’m going to count on anyone to help me, it’d definitely be you.”

The statement made Kirumi smile. “Thank you for continuing to trust in me.”

Across the campus, a bell tolled once as the school’s clock chimed at half past eight. The two of them continued walking, passing by some students who took the bell as a signal to start going back to their dorms at last. Curfew was imposed at nine o’clock, though Ultimates were free to stay and go about until nine-thirty as long as they had a valid excuse to do so.

Ryoma invited her to sit on a vacant stone bench on a courtyard at the school’s eastern side, where there were even fewer students around. He settled down a short distance away from her, gazing up at the faint stars twinkling amidst the night sky. The trimmed hedges around them bore a number of colorful flowers, and their fragrance drifted faintly in the air around them.

“Quite beautiful, isn’t it?” she said as she followed his gaze. “In any other part of the city, the stars would be drowned out easily by the lights of buildings everywhere. Here, however . . .”

Ryoma nodded. “This is a sight that you don’t get to see in prison. With the windows barred up and too high to reach, you start forgetting what the sky looks like sometimes. It’s just one of the worse things in prison that people don’t know about often.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Being out here again, I’ll admit, it’s a lot better than spending twenty hours a day cooped up inside a cell. I’m surprised things came back to me easier than I expected, though it’s good that I’m in here instead of anywhere else in the city. Walking around the streets like a normal person again, going inside stores and stuff . . . it would’ve been a whole other kind of hell adjusting to that all over again. Then again, I suppose the system wouldn’t have liked me walking free for three years after I got scouted for this.”

A melancholic shadow fell across Ryoma’s face as he spoke. Kirumi was once again reminded of his scars, and what they entailed for anyone who saw them like she did. Even though Ryoma’s recollections did not have that many specifics, it was not difficult to see the toll his experiences had taken on him.

“She would’ve loved it here.”

Kirumi turned to look upon him as he finished his candy cigarette with a final bite. He looked at her and cleared his throat. “It’s okay,” he added, as if forestalling her sudden silence at the mention of Isabella Henderson. “You want to know more about her, right?”

The surprise upon her face then must have seemed obvious, for Ryoma gave her a nod to assure her further. It was as if he had decided to talk about something potentially better after realizing that their conversation was taking a bleaker turn. Still, Kirumi felt unsure as she straightened up, placing her hands on her lap.

“I would be lying if I said I was not curious about her,” she began, “but of course, to ask about her and thus inquire about your past . . . that might be too much for you, Ryoma.”

Ryoma heaved a sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know how I might feel,” he admitted, staring back out onto the dark surroundings of the courtyard they were in. “I’ve never talked about her with anyone since that . . . that day long ago.”

“And you don’t have to if it hurts to speak of it,” Kirumi declared earnestly. “The same goes for your experiences in prison.”

Silence dawned on Ryoma for a few seconds. “But if I just keep burying her and ignoring any talk of her, it feels like I’m just trashing her memory. That’s the last thing she deserves after what happened to her.” When he looked over at her, Kirumi could see the regret weighing heavily upon his eyes. “That’s why I want to remember her for how she lived, not for how she died. My involvement in that can’t be changed now, but that doesn’t mean I should just let her be forgotten as a mere casualty of my stupidity, like how the news made her out to be back then. She . . . She deserves more than that."

Observing the pained regret on his face, Kirumi felt for Ryoma greatly, but it also made her appreciate him even more. _He has lost so much, and yet he never lost his sense of humanity._ It was yet another admirable aspect of his person that made her want to keep helping him, to ensure that in his journey to grow again and move on from his past, he would be successful. Kirumi knew that wherever she was right now, Isabella Henderson would be undoubtedly touched by his sentiments and proud of his desire to keep fighting.

“How did . . . How did you two meet?”

She half-expected Ryoma to dodge the question, but he let out a wistful chuckle and replied, “It was in America, right after our first international open, when I had just won in the men’s division. We had two more days off to wait for everything to be wrapped up. While everyone was out, I went down alone to eat at the hotel restaurant, and she just walked up to me as I was passing by the buffet tables.”

“That seems like an interesting way to start things off,” Kirumi noted.

“It was,” said Ryoma in a fond tone that belied the deepness of his voice. “She told me that she was a journalist for a high school who wanted to conduct an exclusive interview with me for their school paper. Being all cocky and stuff, especially after I just won my first international championship, I decided to humor her. Now, I know this might be risky when you’re in another country where shady people could pose as fans or something, but I figured that there was no harm in it; besides, we were gonna go back to Japan eventually, so what’s the big deal, right?

“Anyway, we sat down to talk, and she asked me questions about my matches, my opponents, things like that. I could tell that she knew her stuff when it came to tennis, which made me more comfortable with our discussions. After that, we met each other a few more times at the hotel over the course of those last two days, and she eventually felt guilty and confessed that she wasn’t there on an assignment for her school paper, that she was just there to try and meet me in person. I was a bit peeved about her keeping that hidden, but she was quick to tell me that the part about her being a big fan was true. Our manager was having none of her, but I stopped him from outing her in public since I could tell she meant no harm. On our last day in America, we spent a bit more time together, and I helped her meet some of the other players in our team that she also liked watching. She thanked me a lot for it, and I figured that we were just gonna go our separate ways after that, but . . . well, let’s just say that I decided at the last second to give her my e-mail address.”

Kirumi could not help but smile. “Sounds like she made quite the first impression.”

“To be honest, I still don’t know what made me want to keep in touch with her,” Ryoma admitted. “But we did, and we kept on chatting for a year. That’s when we got closer, and then—”

“ _Well, well, well!_ _What do we have here?_ ”

The voice that suddenly spoke out pierced through the night in a shrill tone, startling Kirumi and Ryoma. The two of them looked around in time to see a dark figure standing several feet away, its silhouette tricky to make out against the glare of the school’s main building behind it. Kirumi stood up just as Ryoma hopped off the bench.

“Who’s there?” she called out, trying to make out who the speaker was.

Taking a few steps forward, its gait possessing an audacious saunter, the figure crooned with a mocking tone. “So what’re you two supposed to be? Two lovers, out trying to find a bit of warmth in the cold moonlight, perhaps? Or are ya just trying to sneak in a quickie, ease a stiffy and get all _sticky_ while no one’s around?” The laugh that followed sounded like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Who are you?” Ryoma muttered, his beanie casting a shadow over his eyes.

A sudden unnerving silence followed as the laughter stopped abruptly. Kirumi began to make out a few details of the figure’s appearance that alerted her to its identity—shining eyeglasses and a pair of black twin braids. But before she could speak, the figure leapt in the air in a graceful backflip towards them. Kirumi drew back instinctively, watching as the interloper landed in a patch of light emanating from the school for them to see, confirming her guess as to who it was.

“. . . Miss Toko?”

But even with the long braids and round eyeglasses and the uniform of an Ultimate, she could tell that there was something strangely _wrong_ with Toko Fukawa, and it made her recall the odd incident that had transpired earlier that morning. Right now, the Ultimate Writing Prodigy’s eyes looked blood-red, and not the doleful grey that Kirumi remembered them to be, while her tongue seemed to loll obscenely from her lips, which were twisted in a demented grimace. Even her voice sounded different with its manic tone.

“Like hell I am, tweeny!” Toko snapped, her glare giving off an obvious air of belligerent intent as if Kirumi had insulted her in some way. “Do I look like a sniveling, smelly, mopey little wretch to you?! Well, there’s no helping it since Miss Morose really loves stinking up the place, but she’s not here! Instead, you’re talking to the one, the only, the Ultimate Murderous Fiend, Genocide Jack! Love me if you want, fear me if you dare, but don’t think I won’t slash you up into bloody little pieces either way!” And then, she beamed at them and began to speak like she was a cheerful attendant greeting customers at a department store. “With that said, I sincerely hope you make yourselves comfortable dealing with murderous ol’ me!”

Kirumi and Ryoma exchanged glances of confusion. On Kirumi’s part, there was a hint of bewildered trepidation as well as she recalled the name that had just been uttered. _Genocide Jack? No, that . . . something doesn’t seem right._

But the so-called Ultimate Murderous Fiend did give her a chance to think on anything in depth. Striding forward, she pulled up the hem of her skirt to reveal her right thigh for a brief moment. Kirumi tensed at first, wondering what indecency was afoot, but the atmosphere took yet another drastic turn as Genocide Jack pulled out a pair of wicked-looking scissors. They shone brightly against the nearby light, their pointed blades looking extremely dangerous, and when Jack adjusted her hand, Kirumi saw that there were two of them.

“Now, now, I’m not gonna cut you up . . . yet,” Genocide Jack simpered. “Personally, I go for cute boys where I can find them, but since I’m in a pretty peckish mood tonight, I’m gonna play with ya for a bit.” She brandished her scissors playfully, tracing one in a vulgar manner across her abnormal tongue. “I’m gonna give you approximately ten seconds to tell me where Master is. If you tell me, I’ll let you walk away without a scratch. If not, I go snip-snip, and trust me when I say my hands like to slip!”

No one moved for a moment. Running the tip of her scissors across her cheek now, Genocide Jack began to count down. “Ten . . . Nine . . .”

Kirumi stepped forward. “Pardon me, Miss . . . Jack,” she said tentatively, “but I’m afraid we don’t know who this . . . ‘Master’ you’re referring to is. What—”

Genocide Jack threw back her head and screeched with laughter. “What’s up with you, prissy missy? Are you trying to sound like someone’s mom?! But wait . . .” She sniffed, as if she was trying to pick up a scent in the air, her giggles hissing through her teeth. “Ooh, you’re different from all the pathetic little skanks that I’ve seen before. Yes, I can smell it. . .” She grinned wickedly. “A pretty little rose with thorns, yes! And my, oh my, those thorns have pierced more than a few bodies, it seems. How charming. . . But don’t think I’ll let that stop me from shanking ya for interrupting me oh-so rudely!”

Kirumi tensed momentarily, both from the threat and the fact that Genocide Jack seemed to guess correctly about the rougher parts of her maid duties back then. But before she could say anything in return, Ryoma stepped between the two of them, his back turned to Kirumi as he faced the Ultimate Murderous Fiend. He moved so fast that Kirumi did not even see him shift from his spot, and in spite of his small appearance, he was giving off an aura of grim intensity that would make even larger men hesitate.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Ryoma declared.

Jack narrowed her malevolent eyes. She sniffed again, her eyes widening after a brief second. “Ooh. . . There’s something about you that made me _tingle_ just now, weeny,” she hissed. Her eyes darted back and forth between him and Kirumi. “Miss Tweeny Todd over there has definitely had her share of roughhousing, but _you’re_ the one who’s actually got the bloodstains to go with his share! Oh, the gore and the screams! I can feel them coming from you! How cruelly captivating!”

It took Kirumi a moment to realize what Genocide Jack was referring to. Ryoma, on the other hand, stood still as a stone, his expression unfathomable now. Kirumi could not tell whether he was angry or startled, or if he simply did not care at the moment about the Ultimate Murderous Fiend’s taunts.

The scissors flashed in Jack’s hands again. “To tell ya the truth, that’s not bad for someone who’s no professional like yours truly,” she commented, “but you’re still lightyears away if you’re gonna get on my level!”

“I’m not trying to,” Ryoma replied at last in a curt voice. “I’ll ask you this, though. If you’re technically Toko Fukawa, then how ar—?”

At that, Jack’s eyes widened with fury. “You actually _dare_ to tell me that after I just explained everything to you?! Did your brain leak outta those pointy ears of yours or something?! I’m a thousand times cuter, cooler and deadlier than that loser! I’m my own pretty little self, okay? And in case _that_ doesn’t get through your thick skull, lemme just put it this way: What you’re seeing before you is a textbook case split personality, and in Miss Morose’s case, her other personality just happens to be a charming, bloodthirsty serial killer! Now as to where that came from, well, just like how every inning has a top and a bottom, or how in the depths of every truth lives a little lie . . . Behind every dark and gloomy soul lives another that shines as bright as the sun!”

The information was a lot to take in, made even trickier to digest with Jack laughing shrilly once again. Kirumi felt rather unsettled, though she held on to her composure and decided to play along nonetheless. “Then if what you say is true, how did you get here?” she asked.

Genocide Jack eased her manic stance with a scowl, like she was genuinely thinking of a reply to her query. “I woke up on the floor, alright? I dunno what the heck my other loser self was doing, but I could sense that Master’s scent was all around me, so I decided a little nighttime hunt for him would help keep my blood running before I get booted off again like before.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes misting with sudden ecstasy as she squirmed like a schoolgirl going gaga for love. “Do you think Master had his way with us in the hallway? Is that why Miss Morose got knocked out cold? ‘Cuz she couldn’t handle the pressure of pouring her guts out while Master was pouring himself into us? Oh, I’m getting all sweaty just thinking about it! Master, you naughty little snack, you should’ve waited until I got there!”

Kirumi found herself failing to make heads or tails as Jack’s constant changes in thought and mood made it hard for her and Ryoma to keep up. However, one thing was clear enough; the presence of the scissors evoked a warning of how things could worsen at any moment, and it did not take much for anyone to sense how volatile Genocide Jack could get. Her first priority would be to help Ryoma then, and she could tell that the Ultimate Tennis Pro had the same conclusion with her; though whether they would stand their ground or flee from an attack, Kirumi could not say.

“Alright, I think that’s enough!” Snapping to attention, Jack pointed her scissors at the two of them again. They clicked like sinister castanets. “I’ve gone on for a lot longer than ten seconds, and you two still haven’t told me where I can find Master! Maybe it’s time I started painting a few more colors on those dreary clothes of yours!”

But whatever Genocide Jack’s intentions were as she stepped forward, Kirumi and Ryoma would never know. Before the Ultimate Murderous Fiend could reach them, she suddenly froze in her spot, her hands faltering and her scissors trembling. Kirumi saw that her nose was twitching.

“W-Wha . . . No! Not ye— _achoo!_ ”

Jack reeled backwards, her face scrunching up from the sneeze and her scissors falling to the ground with a clatter. When she looked up again, Kirumi was dumbfounded to see that her appearance had changed again; Genocide Jack’s red pupils were gone, replaced now by the more familiar grey ones of Toko Fukawa. Her tongue receded into her mouth, and the demented air on her facial features relaxed, giving way to obvious shock.

Her body twitching as if she had woken up from a nightmare, Toko looked wildly around. “W-Where am I?” she sputtered, more to herself than to anyone. When she saw Kirumi and Ryoma standing a few feet away, she took a few terrified steps backwards.

“W-What’s going on?!” she cried out in a tone of voice that was markedly different from Genocide Jack’s. “Why are y-you staring at me like that?!” Her eyes flitting around in terror, she soon saw the fallen scissors on the cobblestones and turned white.

“Oh, no . . . S-She was here, wasn’t she?” she gasped, the words ostensibly proving the veracity of Genocide Jack’s testimony about her split personality in Kirumi’s mind.

“There you are, Toko!”

Kirumi, Ryoma and Toko looked around to see Aoi Asahina and Sakura Ogami hurrying towards them. Aoi looked particularly worried as she ran beside Sakura. Toko, on the other hand, paled further at the sight of them.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Aoi told her. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your head again?”

Toko swallowed anxiously. “What do you mean? I don’t even know w-what happened to me!” she said in a defensive tone.

“I was on my way to the dojo when I saw you speaking with Byakuya in the hallways near the dorms,” Sakura explained as she loomed over the four of them. “You collapsed all of a sudden when he left. I went over to check on you, but you . . . you just rose up and started running like nothing happened.”

“Y-You were just imagining things!” Toko insisted. “M-Maybe you just hit yourself too hard on the head one too many times again when you were busy punching walls in the d-dojo!”

Ignoring the verbal barbs, Sakura looked at her with serious concern. “I am positive that I’m not imagining things.” Her eyes moved downwards, and she frowned. “Are those . . . scissors?”

Hyperventilating now, Toko bent down to snatch Genocide Jack’s scissors off the courtyard’s stone pathway. “T-They’re mine! They just fell out of m-my pocket, that’s all!”

Aoi turned to Ryoma and Kirumi with a worried look. “Did you two run into her?”

“Well, she ran into us, technically,” said Kirumi, though she had no idea how to explain properly what she and Ryoma had just seen and heard. “She seemed . . . fine.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Toko screeched. Without waiting to be put on the spot again, she turned and began to run towards the direction of the dorms, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was covering up some form of indecency.

“Toko, wait!” Aoi called out to her. “We just want to make sure that you’re okay!”

“I just said I’m not! _A-And don’t follow me!_ ” Toko snapped back. Without looking back, she ran even faster, her braids flying behind her. Soon, her figure vanished in the darkness, leaving the four of them staring after her with bewilderment. Aoi let out a tired sigh.

“She hasn’t really been herself lately—I mean, as far as Toko goes, even this is beyond her,” she said. “With her chasing Byakuya around, and that stuff this morning with Junko’s perfume . . . it’s all just been hectic.”

 _Byakuya must be the ‘Master’ she was referring to,_ Kirumi noted privately. Byakuya Togami often called upon her services in the cafeteria during lunchtime, where she would serve him the finest fare that could be prepared. His background and talent as the Ultimate Affluent Progeny made him treat everyone with both coldness and disdain, though he afforded a small measure of respect for Kirumi in the same way a rich employer would approve of a dutiful servant.

“We’ll try to talk to her again and see if we can help her calm down when she acts up again,” Aoi continued. “I hope she didn’t give you guys any trouble.”

“Just a few choice words, nothing else,” said Ryoma. It could not have been any farther from the truth, but Kirumi mused that he wanted to keep the part with Genocide Jack hidden for now.

“Please excuse her,” said Sakura. “She’s a little abrasive, but I don’t think she means any real harm. Although . . .”

Aoi looked up at her. “What is it, Sakura?”

With a stern look in her eyes, Sakura stared in the direction where Toko had run off to before shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I might just be imagining things.”

Aoi reached out and laid a hand comfortingly on her musclebound forearm. “It’s okay. We might just be on edge with the constant issues Toko’s been having.”

“Yes, that might be it,” Sakura mused. Even so, Kirumi could tell that like her, the Ultimate Martial Artist was starting to sense what exactly had transpired, both tonight and earlier that morning. The presence of self-proclaimed murderous fiends notwithstanding, it simply showed just how chaotically colorful Hope’s Peak Academy can really be.

* * *

After clearing things up with Aoi and Sakura, Kirumi made her way back to the dorms with Ryoma. The silence that prevailed in the main building told them that the incident had not drawn much attention, given that most of the student body had now retreated to their dorms. Kirumi felt relieved on the school’s behalf; she could not imagine what kind of chaos Genocide Jack would have created if she ran into more students, and she had nothing but concern and sympathy for Toko Fukawa.

“It’s a wonder that she did not encounter any students this morning,” Kirumi remarked after a while. “If she had gone out during lunchtime when everyone was around . . .”

“That would’ve been quite an incident,” Ryoma mused quietly. “Do you think the school knows of her, ah . . . predicament?”

“If not, they will soon enough once they get wind of these incidents,” said Kirumi. “However, the fact that Toko is involved with her like _that_ might complicate things somewhat.”

“Yeah, can’t deny that,” Ryoma muttered. When he did not say anything else, Kirumi looked upon him with concern. Ever since Genocide Jack had gone, he had grown rather quiet, almost dejected, and she did not have to think too hard on why that was. The obvious silence continued as they entered the last hallway leading to the dorms. Though Ryoma made attempts to initiate small talk, none of them seemed to take off. Kirumi bowed her head, wondering what else she could say. She wanted to comfort Ryoma or at least distract him from what might be keeping him down at the moment, but she could not bring herself to tackle the situation head on and mention what Genocide Jack had belted at him. And any attempt to divert the topic towards school matters or Ryoma’s desire to start practicing tennis for real felt both forced and ineffective.

“Ryoma . . .” she began. “Regarding what happened—”

Ryoma waved his hand airily. “It’s fine. All that stuff I heard earlier, it’s nothing I haven’t faced before. Besides, that’s . . . that’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kirumi.

Ryoma looked straight into her eyes. “I was just worried about you. As wacky as that Genocide Jack character seemed to be, I could tell she was dead serious about cutting people up.” He shook his head as they kept walking down the hallway. “You’ve served as a bodyguard to people before, so I have no doubt that you would’ve been able to handle yourself just fine. But I think my worry made me want to step in regardless, because I . . . I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

With a dejected sigh, he looked up at her, though he seemed unable to say anything else. Kirumi took note of the regret and reluctance on his round, youthful features—and the obvious concern most of all, which made her immensely grateful.

After a while, Ryoma looked away. “I’m sorry if I’m getting all riled up like this. It’s just that . . . with what I shared about Isabella, with all that stuff over at dinner and that business with Genocide Jack, it made me think a lot.”

Kirumi walked a little closer to him, as if drawn to some unseen force in his being. “Of what, Ryoma?” she asked softly.

Ryoma pulled his beanie over his eyes. He remained so quiet for a few seconds that it appeared like he had lost his nerve. Kirumi tensed a little, taking note of the reluctance and even embarrassment in his countenance.

“. . . Nothing, never mind,” Ryoma replied at last, his eyes downcast. “Some other time, maybe.”

After a brief pause, Kirumi nodded and looked away, having no desire to prod any further and make Ryoma feel more uncomfortable than he already did. Still, she found herself wondering what exactly it was that he wanted to say—and why she felt somewhat disappointed at being unable to hear it.

At the junction where the dormitories branched out into their respective areas, the two of them turned to each other. “I have to go now,” Kirumi told him. “I do hope you’re okay, Ryoma. As busy and . . . _bizarre_ as this day was, I’m glad to have spent a bit more time with you tonight.”

“No problem. I’m glad that I got to talk to you as well,” said Ryoma. “Are you free tomorrow for the gym, or do you have some work to take care of again?”

“That depends on whether more students will look for me to assist them in their activities,” Kirumi replied, “but I’ll do my best to make time for you, as always.”

“Thanks for that, I appreciate it.” Ryoma shifted where he stood, his breath hissing faintly through his nose as he sighed. “Also, I still owe you that story about Isabella.”

“All in good time, Ryoma,” said Kirumi. “We’ll have plenty more opportunities to continue with that. I look forward to it all the same.”

Ryoma nodded. “Alright. Anyway, just . . . just take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

Kirumi smiled, wishing that she could stay just a little while longer. “You too, Ryoma. Good night.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, as she finished taking her nightly bath and getting dressed for sleep, Kirumi settled down at last in her bed and looked through her laptop once again. She had concluded the day’s events by researching about Genocide Jack, intending to refresh her memory about the name. Her efforts led her to various news articles that she and the rest of the country had seen before: a series of gruesome murders linked to Genocide Jack that had cropped up all across Japan over the span of the past couple of years before mysteriously stopping altogether. All the victims were handsome teenage boys, and all of them had been found stabbed to death and crucified with scissors on walls, with the words “Bloodlust” written in their own blood beside them. When looking through the grisly details of each case, it was difficult to fathom the fact that the unconventional and apprehensive Toko Fukawa had a split personality that was capable of committing such crimes.

As she skimmed through the list of articles, Kirumi recalled how one of her former employers, a prestigious businessman in Osaka, had confided in her about the killings when they gained traction on the news. “ _Horrible business, these murders,_ ” she remembered him telling her. “ _Evil, sadistic bastards getting a kick out of killing other people. Whoever’s doing this needs a life sentence_ and _the capital punishment ten times over. That’s all they deserve._ ”

Being a mere maid at the time, Kirumi did not see the point in debating with her employer’s sentiments, and simply carried on with her duties. But after her encounters with Ryoma and now Genocide Jack, she saw what kind of real humanity often lay beneath the so-called “evil, sadistic bastards” that rocked the country with their harrowing wrongdoings. Whether it involved those who became the byproducts of unfortunate circumstances like Ryoma or those with possible mental disorders like Toko, it was plain to see that mere evilness was not the sole catalyst in their crimes.

Driven by her thoughts, Kirumi opened a new tab and started a fresh search. The results that came out spoke for themselves; apart from scant articles detailing Ryoma’s young but storied career as a tennis player, most of the pieces she saw spoke of the same thing.

“‘ _FORMER TENNIS ACE NOW SUSPECT IN BLOODY SHIKOKU MASSACRE_ ”

“ _COURT EYES DEATH ROW SENTENCE FOR RYOMA HOSHI_ ”

“ _KILLER TENNIS – EX-CHAMPION NABBED FOR MASS SLAYING_ ”

For someone who knew Ryoma in a very different light, the headlines weighed heavily on Kirumi’s heart, though she could not imagine how traumatic and cumbrous they had to be for the Ultimate Tennis Pro himself. Nevertheless, along with the dreariness came a healthy measure of undaunted resolve. _I’ve still got a ways to go,_ Ryoma had told her, and Kirumi was more willing than ever to help him get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I live once more! And first off, I'm really, really sorry for the longer delay. I was actually on a roll with my chapters until I fell sick with the flu. Thankfully, after a few days' worth of bedrest and taking meds, I managed to recover quickly enough. It took me a couple more days to mentally get back in the groove, hence the extended delay. Once again, I apologize if I kept you waiting again :(
> 
> I'm already planning the next chapter out so that I'll be able to make enough of a headway into it in case it gets delayed. Some work-related stuff is gonna be happening soon and I might end up being busy again, so I wanna make sure I create enough progress to make things easier for the next chapter upload. For now, I hope this chapter delivers a nice read for you all.
> 
> As always, stay safe, and happy reading!


	11. Of Talent, Hope and Second Chances

The man kept running through the dark corridor, looking back with his face and eyes white with fear. His right arm seemed to dangle uselessly by his side, flopping like a fish with every bound he made. Blood marred the black suit he wore, dyeing the white shirt beneath with dark, grisly splotches that clung to his skin. The carnage lay around him—shattered glass windows, holes damaged with dents and cracks, bodies that had their skulls caved in so grotesquely that they were no unrecognizable. Some of them had guns and batons with them, not that it did them any good when a well-placed shot from afar could kill them in an instant.

He tripped against a lifeless, wayward leg and fell to the floor, crying out as he landed on his injured arm. There was no time to waste in bemoaning his injury, however, and he looked up fearfully as the footsteps drew nearer. Defensively, futilely, he held out his uninjured hand towards his pursuer, his face contorting with both pain and terror.

“W-Wait, please! I’m just a guard here!” he implored. “I don’t know anything ab—!”

But his words were cut off as something shot forth in a blur, smashing right between his eyes with a sickening thud. Immediately, he was thrown backwards on the floor, twitching and spluttering in agony as blood trickled freely down his broken nose and face. He writhed against his surroundings, as if still trying to escape from certain death as quickly as his limbs could take him, his instinct going against the debilitated faculties of his body. Meanwhile, the object of his agony—the bloodstained iron ball that had just rebounded off his skull—rolled ominously on the floor.

The dying man’s movements soon began to fade. In the darkness of the corridor, his left eye seemed to bulge right out of its socket, a harrowing sight sure to give any onlooker nightmares. He reached out feebly, his fingers contorting with the effort as his brain started to give out.

“. . . P-Pl . . . ea . . . se . . .” he choked one last time.

Ryoma awoke with a start, his body overcome by a surge of dread for a wild moment. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, however, he soon saw that he was still in bed inside his dorm room at Hope’s Peak Academy. He sat up gingerly, his eyes stinging from the act of waking up so abruptly, and felt a dull ache in his head that seemed to remind him ever so subtly about what he had just seen in his sleep. He breathed deeply to calm himself, the sound of his exhalations almost deafening amidst the silence of his room.

_Again_ , he told himself, shaking his head slowly. The movement made him feel woozy, as if he had just woken up with a hangover reminiscent of his first and only time drinking alcohol. Goose pimples formed on the skin of his arms, triggered by the chill on his spine and the coldness of his own room. Very little light seeped through the curtains on the nearby windows, casting faint tendrils across the darkness.

Feeling too upset to go back to sleep, Ryoma sat up straighter and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to ward off any more sleepiness from his being. Malaise was forming within him, making his body feel heavier than it should. Try as he might to close his eyes, all he could see were the death throes of the fleeing man, and the iron ball that had been used to end his life. Involuntarily, his left fingers twitched. Ryoma let out a long and tired sigh as he balled his left hand into a fist, not intending to let it recall just how cold and unforgiving that iron ball had felt against his fingertips.

Willfully ignoring his thoughts, he stood up and went to the bathroom, his bare feet stabbed with icy sensations as they meandered over the tiled floor. When he had reached the sink, he climbed up on the small stepping stool in front of the counter, turned on the faucet, and bent over to wash his face. The cold water felt incredibly refreshing, chasing away the last vestiges of drowsiness that still gripped him. When he was done, he straightened up slowly until he could see himself in the mirror above the sink. Water trailed down his face and onto his bare, scarred chest, and for a second Ryoma was reminded horribly of the murdered man’s ruined, bloody visage. Quickly, he reached for his towel on the nearby wall rack and began to dry his face.

_Again_ , he repeated in his mind. It did not take too long for him to know exactly why he had the same nightmare again. His time with Kirumi earlier that night had gone rather well, and his recollections of Isabella had made him feel wistful but otherwise okay; but things had taken a rather startling turn when they were accosted by a murderous interloper. In between Genocide Jack’s ramblings, threats and wicked-looking scissors, it was her strange intuition regarding Ryoma’s past that had gotten to him the most. Even Kirumi had not been spared, as the self-proclaimed Ultimate Murderous Fiend seemed to know about the more dangerous and rigorous aspect of Kirumi’s experiences as the Ultimate Maid.

_But she’s no murderer,_ Ryoma knew. _That’s what I am._ Naturally, Kirumi’s own instincts helped her pick up on his melancholy regarding Genocide Jack’s jabs, but Ryoma had no intention of burdening her any further, especially after such a hectic evening on her part. He had gone back to his dorms and resigned himself to sleep dejectedly, caught between the feeling of emptiness Genocide Jack’s words had given him and the fact that his story about Isabella had been cut short so suddenly.

And of course, there was the other part of it that he had almost let slip. Ever vigilant, Kirumi was likely to pick up on it as well, though Ryoma was adamant to let her stay in the dark for as long as he could afford. But there was no denying the creeping feelings that were starting to take over him whenever he spent time with her, the same creeping feelings that ostensibly compelled him to ask her out on a short walk. He grunted and closed his eyes, bracing the countertop with his hands. _It’s too early for all this._ Shaking his head, he turned off the faucet and went back to his bed, throwing his towel on it. He wanted to distract himself in any way, but there were so many thoughts racing inside his head that it was a futile effort to try and think of something. Instead, he could only sit down at the foot of his bed, his muscles tensing against the chill around him.

How many of the dead and dying did he remember? Even now, it seemed, Ryoma could still recall the faces and words of some of the victims of his murderous, vindictive wrath years ago—an aging man seated in front of a typewriter, a young man pouring himself a drink inside his den, and the middle-aged guard who had the misfortune of being on duty that fateful night, the same one who had died another death in his dream earlier. Some, like the old man, had died instantly as soon as his head was bludgeoned by the iron ball; the guard and the young man had not been as fortunate.

_They deserved it_ , Ryoma had tried to tell himself many times before, when he languished in his cell for the first few months of his incarceration, and even more so when he had been punished for reasons both unknown and asinine in solitary confinement. _They deserved it after what happened to my family, to Isabella. They deserved to die._ But even so, he was forced to acknowledge that he had killed human beings—fathers, brothers, husbands no less. The lawyers working against him at his one-sided trial made sure that the jury remembered such points. Even though they milked the deaths for all they were worth to ensure that he would never again live as a free man, the blood on Ryoma’s hands on that hellish year was something no lie or defense could ever cover up and disprove. Knowing that there was no way for him to go back to sleep, Ryoma decided to ease his heaviness by taking a shower.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, dawn was breaking across Hope’s Peak. Ryoma got himself dressed and stepped out into the empty corridor of the Ultimates’ quarter. _Kirumi should be going on her morning jog by now_ , he remembered. For a moment, he was seized by a desire to meet her out on the school grounds, but his melancholy held him back. On his ankle, his chains rattled like bells tinkling on a rope, echoing against the walls in the bare hallways of the main building. Outside, he could see distant figures jogging along the open field, though the pre-dawn haze made it difficult for him to see where Kirumi might be among them. Instead, he decided to preoccupy himself by visiting certain spots in the main building that he passed by rarely.

When he had gone full circle and returned to his dorm room, he was surprised to see a small white envelope waiting for him on the floor as soon as he had opened the door. Frowning, Ryoma bent down to pick it up. The school’s crest was imprinted onto it in maroon ink, with his name stenciled out just below it in black. He moved over to his bed and sat down, tearing the envelope open and taking out the letter within. The words were typewritten and signed with the school’s crest, also in black ink.

“ _Greetings, Mr. Ryoma Hoshi._

_We wish to inform you that your presence is requested at the Headmaster’s Office this morning at nine o’clock. This is regarding an incident at approximately eight o’clock the previous evening involving Ms. Toko Fukawa and a number of Ultimate Students. Some of your schoolmates had attested that you may have run into Ms. Fukawa then. Headmaster Kirigiri wishes to question anyone who may have been involved in the incident, at the behest of the Steering Committee._

_We hope that this notice finds you in good health. The Headmaster’s Office is at the main building’s fourth floor. Please inform the headmaster’s secretary of your presence first at the outer office first before entering._

_Thank you._ ”

Ryoma went through the letter a few more times, a feeling of comprehension dawning on him. It seemed obvious why the school would want to interrogate anyone who may have run into Genocide Jack last night. After all, if a self-professed killer was out and about, it was only natural that Hope’s Peak would step in, assess the situation and act accordingly. It was proof of Kirumi’s words weeks ago, of how the school was ready to act in case of any untoward incidents, whether they involved students with serial killers for split personalities or those who had a gruesome rap sheet like he did. Even so, Ryoma grunted darkly. The irony that the headmaster would have to speak to a murderer face to face regarding an incident involving another murderer was not lost on him.

Breakfast went by with little to no hiccups later that morning. Only Kokichi seemed aware of the rumor that a serial killer was on the loose, and for a moment Ryoma tensed, wondering if attention would come his way from those who knew of his grisly crime. Thankfully, Kaito and Tenko were there to unwittingly distract everyone else from that by disputing the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s words as more lies, even though they were perfectly true. Kirumi showed up to tend to them a little later than usual, and Ryoma had to wonder if she had been summoned at the Headmaster’s Office a lot earlier than he was.

Their first homeroom class had just gotten finished when he was called up. A member of the morals committee appeared at their classroom door, asking for him. Kokichi and Miu hollered about the idea of someone getting in trouble, while Kaede expressed her concern about the call-up. Kirumi, on the other hand, had a knowing look in her eyes as Ryoma glanced fleetingly at her. He could feel the stares of his classmates boring into him as he left the room, looking diminished in his dark attire compared to the resplendent white uniform worn by the morals committee student. Even so, the young man seemed reluctant to reprimand him for not wearing an Ultimate’s uniform. Somewhere in the school, Kiyotaka Ishimaru would be shaking his head in disapproval.

When they had reached the fourth floor, the student pointed him in the right direction and took his leave. Ryoma walked down the empty corridor feeling smaller than usual, his chains scraping and tinkling as he went. Because classes were still being held everywhere else, there were no students about, and not even a janitor could be espied at any point down the corridor. At the nearby windows, the sun’s rays shot through like radiant swords, making the floors sparkle and proving that no janitor was needed at the moment.

The headmaster’s office was marked by a pair of polished double doors at the end of another short corridor, giving off a small sense of foreboding. Right next to it was a small window, which Ryoma guessed was part of the outer office where the headmaster’s secretary would be. He ambled towards it, reached out his hand and tapped on the glass, thankful that it was low enough for him to reach. In no time at all, a stern-looking lady with square-shaped eyeglasses and grey-streaked hair peeked out from behind, looking a little surprised as she cast her gaze downwards and saw him for the first time.

“Name, class and business?” she asked curtly.

“Ryoma Hoshi, from Class 80-A. I received a summons earlier this morning,” said Ryoma.

“Ah, yes,” said the secretary, showing no sign of whether she recognized his name or if she deemed his attire improper. She reached to her side and shifted through a small stack of folders, stopping on one and reading it with narrowed eyes. “Yes, everything appears to be in order. Go right ahead, I’ll ring you in for Headmaster Kirigiri. Don’t forget to knock before you enter!”

Ryoma touched the brim of his beanie in return and walked towards the double doors, rapping his knuckles smartly against the wood before opening them. As he did so, a male voice called out.

“Come in.”

The interior of the headmaster’s office looked like any other rich man’s study. Bookshelves lined the walls on one side, with a myriad of titles displayed behind their framed glass doors. Across on the other side, a display case stood with gleaming trophies, plaques and even a golden katana replica inside. Right above it, looking down at the office like sentinels, were the black-and-white portraits of various old men in suits, each with names beneath their faces, too small to read from where Ryoma was. Two brown leather couches sat face to face in the middle of the office, with a polished coffee table right in between. At the opposite end facing the doors, Headmaster Kirigiri sat on a black office chair behind a large wooden desk flanked by two end tables with potted plants on top, giving the office a more relaxed feel. Various folders and papers were strewn atop it, along with a plaque bearing the words “ _Jin Kirigiri, Headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy_ ” in gold.

Jin Kirigiri sat up straighter as Ryoma drew closer to his desk. “Good morning, Mr. Hoshi,” he said. “Please, have a seat over there.”

Ryoma obeyed, taking a seat on the couch to his right. The headmaster began to arrange some of the paperwork on his desk, as if preparing to do business. Like his secretary, he seemed unabashed at the sight of his apparel.

“I trust that the summons explained precisely why you were requested to come here?” he asked Ryoma.

“Yes, sir,” said Ryoma in reply, feeling a little thankful that he had not forgotten his manners at least. He could not help but notice how younger the headmaster was compared to the elderly men on the portraits, who could only be his predecessors. Handsome, with short, dark purple hair and matching eyes, Jin Kirigiri looked to be only in his late thirties, with a voice that sounded rather light instead of stern. Compared to the uncompromising prison officials he had faced before, the headmaster was indeed a welcome person to meet.

It did not take long for the headmaster to get down to brass tacks. “Before we begin, let me just say that whatever we will discuss here and now, and what happened yesterday as well, please keep it confidential, Mr. Hoshi. I know that rumors are already starting to float around among the students, but it’d be best if we just let them stay as rumors for now. It’ll help us handle things better, you see?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Very good. Now, about last night. When Miss Fukawa had her . . . episode, you were with a classmate of yours, correct? Miss Kirumi Tojo, to be exact.”

_So she did come here before I did._ “Yes. I was with her,” said Ryoma.

Headmaster Kirigiri nodded. “She told me quite a bit already earlier, but for the sake of corroboration, I will ask for your account now. When Miss Fukawa accosted the two of you, did she try to harm you or anyone else around?”

“It was mostly verbal,” Ryoma replied. “Threats, ramblings, that kind of stuff.”

“Threats to attack?”

“Yes. She had these scissors with her when she was threatening us.”

“But she never attacked anyone regardless?”

“No, sir. Though I think she did want to try. She tried to at the end, before . . .”

Ryoma paused, pondering if he should mention the bizarre transformation that occurred right before Genocide Jack attacked. But the headmaster moved on to another question. “Did she mention attacking anyone else before she ran into you and Miss Tojo?”

“No. She did mention that she was looking for someone, though.” At that moment, Ryoma wondered if he should mention the term “Master” that Genocide Jack had used, as awkward as it would sound, but again Headmaster Kirigiri cut across him.

“Yes, apparently she was looking for her classmate, Mr. Byakuya Togami. She ran into three other students from another class and a group from the Reserve Course who also said the same thing. Now, what made the incident a bit more intriguing are two things. One involves an incident yesterday morning, when Miss Fukawa knocked herself unconscious in a small incident at her class. Miss Tojo and some from Class 78 tell me that after Miss Fukawa was brought to the clinic, she . . . disappeared? I spoke to our resident nurse, Miss Mikan Tsumiki, and she assures me that she never gave Miss Fukawa any sort of medicine that may cause her to just up and vanish. Her classmate Miss Asahina suggested that she might’ve been sleepwalking.”

“She didn’t seem like she was sleepwalking when we ran into her,” Ryoma noted. “Intoxicated or drugged, maybe, but I’m not sure.”

The headmaster nodded once. “I see. What happened afterwards? You mentioned that she _tried_ to attack, yes? But your schoolmates said that she fled instead.”

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

“Very well. And now that brings us to the other intriguing part of all this—Genocide Jack,” Headmaster Kirigiri said gravely, making Ryoma feel startled that he already knew. _Then again, he’s the headmaster. He should know._

“From what Miss Fukawa herself had chosen to confide, it was a case of split personalities,” the headmaster went on, pausing to give a grimace. “I wouldn’t pretend to know a lot about psychology and all, but judging from the incident that morning and the one last night, it fits. Oddly, yes, but it fits all the same, especially now that I’ve heard from Miss Fukawa and the rest of you. Naturally, having split personalities wouldn’t be too much of a problem if the other personality in question wasn’t a notorious serial killer who’s wanted in several prefectures for the murders of young men. Lots of speculation and rumors floated around about that, though I don’t think anyone had any way of guessing that Genocide Jack was actually someone hiding inside a young woman’s body—a young woman currently enrolled in Hope’s Peak Academy, no less—nor would they have any idea of what Genocide Jack actually looks like. The authorities back then could only piece together clues, not a composite sketch.

“Back to the matter at hand, of course I wish to have this situation under control as soon as possible. Miss Fukawa may be Genocide Jack, but she is also a student of this school. I want to smooth things out before making any decisions, but the Steering Committee has . . . other plans.”

A brief, tense silence hung in the air momentarily. “What happened to Toko Fukawa?” Ryoma found himself asking.

“Nothing yet, and I want to keep it that way,” said the headmaster. “As of now, she’s been given permission to return to class under observation from the teachers, and to her credit, she seems keen on keeping her predicament under control. She was scared to death of being expelled, even though she kept saying that she might deserve it.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, having an issue like Miss Fukawa’s in the school might do more than raise a few eyebrows, and the Steering Committee feels that it should put the school’s welfare and reputation above all else. They wish to have her quietly expelled before word gets out about her unfortunate dilemma.”

Ryoma looked upon the headmaster, remembering the nervous, sullen girl that had stood before him and Kirumi last night. “Is that what’s going to happen?”

“If it were up to me, no,” said Headmaster Kirigiri straightforwardly. “After all, Genocide Jack is the infamous murderer here, not Miss Fukawa. Big difference there, one that my colleagues seem likely to ignore. That’s why I’m gathering what testimonies I can from you and the others who ran into her yesterday. To prove that in spite of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her, she hasn’t harmed anyone in the school, meaning she doesn’t deserve to be immediately expelled for what may very well be an isolated case—and one that could be prevented in the future. Obviously, addressing things in the long run will be more complex, but I believe the school will be able to handle that. After all, we do scout our students closely, and ensure that they are fit to study and keep studying.”

“Is that also how I ended up here to begin with?”

The question was out before Ryoma could stop himself. Headmaster Kirigiri looked a little surprised by it as well as he gazed upon him. “I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn here, sir,” Ryoma added quietly. “It’s just a matter that crossed my mind a few times before.”

The headmaster nodded to show that he had understood. “You must be referring to your own delinquency, yes?”

“With all due respect, sir, if you know my profile—and I’m sure you do—I think calling it ‘delinquency’ is a bit of an understatement,” Ryoma proffered.

Jin Kirigiri sighed. “I’m sorry. Yes, all the higher-ups of Hope’s Peak do know of that, from me to the Steering Committee itself. Your case, Mr. Hoshi, was a difficult one, I’ll admit. The committee was adamant that you don’t get admitted, and the prison system also had its complaints about letting you walk free for three years to study here. For those of us who thought otherwise, we needed to write a lot of letters to secure your temporary release and finalize your admission here. I’m glad to see that it worked in the end.”

“Yes, I had a feeling that the system might’ve wanted to block me ever coming here,” Ryoma mused. “Does that mean you also talked to my former school?”

“Ah, of course.” The headmaster opened a nearby folder and traced a finger across it, his eyes following the lines. “Fog Heights High School, right? Yes, we managed to get written testimonies from your former coaches and professors there.”

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. “I figured that Fog Heights wanted nothing to do with me after what happened.”

“We made sure that it wouldn’t reflect on their institution, to soothe any reservations they might have. They did have quite a few things to say about you, though.”

“I’m guessing that not all of them are good things.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Hoshi, they spoke glowingly of your record. Of course, your criminal record is an entirely different matter for them, but your tennis record still stands as one of the best—if not _the_ best—in their school. It takes exceptional talent to stand out amidst a batch of highly gifted players, regardless of how you might have turned out in the end. That is why our talent scouts knew you were the one we needed to enroll.”

That surprised Ryoma somewhat. Playing tennis had been an engaging but nonetheless hectic climb back in his former school, especially with how fiercely competitive and incredibly skilled his schoolmates had been. Ryoma could even name a few of them that he imagined to be fully capable of beating him in a number of matches, though he did not expect to hear that none of them had come close to his status even after he had been incarcerated and thus expelled from Fog Heights.

As glowing as this was, however, there was also the other side of it. “And the part about hope?” he asked the headmaster quietly. “I’m hardly a paragon after the things I did. I might be able to turn back into an ace player, but people who know will look at me as the murderer I am. Crimes like mine don’t exactly vanish from memory that easily. Even if I walk free, people will remember, and judge.”

Jin Kirigiri stared at him for a moment, like he was thinking of a response to his points. Ryoma waited, wondering if he was going too far with his own self-doubt by forcing the headmaster to give in to his musings. Still, he had come this far, and the chance to speak to the man who was instrumental in securing his momentary release so he could start playing tennis again was something he was willing to seize, if only to alleviate some of his concerns.

The headmaster leaned forward, clasping his hands together as they lay atop his desk. “My answer might be a bit too unrealistic for you, Mr. Hoshi, but if you will, permit me to explain it like this. You see, in the world as we know it today, there is much despair around already—hardship, conflict, the kinds of things that stop society from being its very best. It’s the same kind of adversity that prevails in your story, or Miss Fukawa’s. Here at Hope’s Peak Academy, we wish to change that. We want to create a future built around the idea of _hope_ , the hope that there is something better for all of us waiting amidst the difficulties and despair we endure, and who better to do that than you, the members of the current generation? We want you to pave the way to a brighter tomorrow and inspire future generations to follow in your footsteps. And for that, it is talent that we look to, talent that will serve to show society what it is capable of achieving and teaching in spite of the difficulties of today. The Steering Committee and I have that much in common at least, though I’m not afraid to admit that we do have our differences in how and where talent must be cultivated.

“You see, Mr. Hoshi, I want students to be scouted for their talents and capabilities, not for their past records or reputations,” the headmaster went on solemnly. “My colleagues may think that a student’s repute will affect their standing as a symbol of hope in society, but for me, I say otherwise. Call me ignorant or highly trusting, but I believe firmly that a student’s shortcomings do not define what he or she is capable of becoming. And as hard as it may be to believe, and as idealistic as it sounds, that resonates with many people today. To see others overcome their burdens, their dark pasts and even their crimes, to see them become these role models that will in turn inspire them to live for the same ideals. People need that, you see? They need something to believe in, to help them realize that there is a bright spot in the problems that prevail everywhere today. That’s why I believe in individuals like you, Mr. Hoshi, or even in the likes of Miss Fukawa. My colleagues—and a great many other people besides—will surely think I’m mad for putting my faith in something as possibly foolish like that, but this is what I believe, and what I want the school to display in turn.”

Ryoma found nothing else to say, even as a myriad of reactions welled up in him—surprise, cynicism, understanding, and the idea that perhaps beneath his kind words and proper appearance, Jin Kirigiri was mad. But the headmaster spoke with so much resolve and sincerity that Ryoma found it disarming in spite of the skepticism he was feeling. That he was also willing to accept the idea that he may be too idealistic alluded to a humanizing sense of doubt on his part, and not merely blind faith or ignorant optimism.

“There are still things that I’m not so sure about,” Ryoma managed to say after a while, “but it’s good that I now understand how and why exactly I ended up here, and what’s expected of me. It’s better than believing I was just sent here as part of some cruel joke.”

The headmaster smiled. “I hope that reassures you in some way, Mr. Hoshi. Your experiences put you above many of your peers regarding many things, but the last thing we want is to make you feel like an outcast. You were scouted her for a reason, and it is up to you if you wish to do that justice during your stay here.”

Ryoma grunted. “I’ll see if I can. I’m not really optimistic about what’s waiting for me after I graduate—if I even make it that far. But with some help, I might be able to make the most out of my stay here nonetheless. At least that’ll help me rest easier when I go back to prison.”

“The future is still a long road away,” said the headmaster. “So many things can happen until then, and life is full of second chances. Who knows what’s in store?”

The tone of his voice had a mentor-like tone to it, but there was also a sense of optimism, like he himself was also clinging on the sort of hope that he was preaching about and assuring himself of the same thing that he was assuring Ryoma.

“I guess you’re right about that, sir,” was all Ryoma could say. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Hoshi,” said the headmaster cordially. “Now, I don’t want to take up too much of your time anymore. Is there anything else that you have to say regarding the incident last night? Anything else that you might remember?”

“I think that’s all of it, sir,” said Ryoma.

The headmaster nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Mr. Hoshi, you may go back to class now. Have a good day.”

“Yes. Good day to you too, sir.”

With that, Ryoma stood up, inclined his head and took his leave. As he made his way back to class, he kept thinking about the hope that the headmaster spoke of, and whether Jin Kirigiri had said something similar to Kirumi as well when he had been mentioned.

* * *

If Genocide Jack’s presence in the school was starting to become a known fact, it showed very little indication of it when lunchtime rolled around. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary as the student body converged at the cafeteria to eat lunch. Even so, it was the last place that Ryoma wanted to be right now; instead of being able to retreat to his room for his customary meal with Kirumi, Kaede had asked him if he could eat with the rest of the class. Ryoma already expected to be hounded by his classmates in some way if he went along, though he felt loath to refuse for some reason.

As soon as he sat down, Tsumugi fired off the first question. “So what happened earlier, Ryoma? Did you get in trouble?” she asked concernedly.

“Not really,” Ryoma replied quietly, wondering how many more queries will be made. “I was just asked a few questions about something that happened.”

“Come to think of it, there are rumors of some kind of trouble happening yesterday,” said Shuichi. “The other classes were talking about it too. M-Maybe it’s related to that?”

“I’ve heard of similar things too,” Keebo added. “It feels like an odd coincidence after what we heard earlier.”

“If you mean the stuff that Kokichi’s been spitting out, forget it,” Kaito remarked before Ryoma could answer. “Yakking on and on about some serial killer walking around here like it’s nobody’s business. I mean, a _serial killer_? Really? Who’d be dumb enough to believe that?!”

Maki shifted uncomfortably beside him. “Things like that aren’t as farfetched as you’d think, Momota. Not in a place like this, at least.”

“I have to agree with Maki,” Tenko cut in, looking conflicted. “Even though we know a degenerate little male like Kokichi is nothing but a no-good, full-blown liar, my senses of justice have been tingling for a while now. As painful as it is for me to say this, it makes me wonder if there’s truth in what he’s saying.”

Miu scoffed loudly. “If you believe what the lying clown twink says, Miss Andry, then you may as well say that my tits are as bad as Bakamatsu’s over there!” she snapped, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder to where Kaede was sitting and causing Kaede to shoot her a resentful look. “Besides, that ‘tingling’ you’re talking about is just pleb code for being drier than a desert. If you wanna fix that, I’ve got some fan-fucking-tastic machines that can help you twenty-four-seven! Maybe it’ll help you change your opinion about dicks for once!”

Tenko drew back with an affronted look. “But I don’t need my senses fixed, because they’re always right!” she insisted. “My master has trained me to sense trouble so that I can act on it immediately! From an old lady needing to cross the street or a cat being stuck in a tree, my instincts haven’t led me astray yet!”

Kaede stepped in now. “Alright, alright, things are starting to become a little too much here,” she said admonishingly. “Regarding all this, I haven’t really heard about anything serious from the other classes or our professors just yet. Maybe it’s just another kind of rumor gone wrong thanks to Kokichi’s lies.”

“Then if I’m wrong, why don’t you ask Mommy and Daddy what exactly they were interrogated about?” came Kokichi’s voice suddenly. He appeared next to Tenko’s seat, carrying with him a bottle of grape soda, a mischievous grin already plastered on his face. Ryoma bristled, more at his continued usage of the terms “Mommy” and “Daddy” than anything else.

Tenko shifted backwards, glaring angrily. “How dare you come so close to me like that, you degenerate male?!” she hissed at Kokichi, her hands waving as she readied her Neo-Aikido stance. “I ought to slam you across this table right here, right now!”

“Hey, there’s no need for that!” Kaede cried out, leaning forward to forestall the brewing tension. “Alright, as interesting as it is for someone to get called upon by the headmaster, I didn’t invite Ryoma here just for him to get badgered, alright? Whatever the reason is, it’s none of our business.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Kokichi as he took a seat across her, ignoring Tenko’s death stares. “Would you still think it’s none of our business if that serial killer starts stalking all of us one at a time?”

“Again with that serial killer crap,” Kaito snapped. “Would you cut it out already?!”

“Hey, Mr. Astro-nut, it’s not my fault that your head’s full of hot gas like the stars you keep looking up to,” Kokichi quipped as Kaito fumed; next to him, Maki had the faintest of smirks flit across her face. “Besides, what’re you getting mad at me for? You’re gonna shoot the messenger like the mean bullies you all are, is that it?” he added, his lip quivering in an overdramatic manner.

“Only because you’re the most casual liar we know,” Tsumugi remarked candidly.

“Hey, I take that as an insult!” Kokichi snapped petulantly. “My super-secret evil organization’s got over ten thousand members working hard ‘round the clock to make sure the world’s running on schedule, so you can be sure that the information we gather is all verified! From the next world leaders that’ll get elected to the day of the next world war, if you wanna know, you come to us!”

“I wouldn’t even trust you to tell me the time,” Kaito muttered mulishly.

“Please, no quarrels within the dining hall’s premises,” Kirumi’s formal voice cut in, ringing through the exchange. Ryoma turned to see her standing behind Kaede, ready to take their orders. When her eyes found him, she smiled at him, her composure and formal façade as impeccable as ever in spite of last night.

Thankfully, no more conflict started after Kirumi’s arrival, though Kokichi took this time to subtly poke more jabs at Kaito and Miu, who were keen to disparage what they firmly believed to be lies. Gonta, ever the innocent giant, was having explanations fed to him by Tsumugi as he asked what everyone else seemed to be preoccupied with. On their side, Korekiyo was soon engaged in a discussion of his own with Angie when the morals of murder were brought up, though the snippets Ryoma heard told him that both agreed in a morbid sense on the beauty and even necessity of spilled blood. The rest only listened in, humoring the discussions being made or seemingly keeping their thoughts to themselves. Ryoma was thankful that the small debates around him distracted the others from asking questions as to why he was summoned to the headmaster’s office in the first place. But as time passed, his mind wandered back to his dilemma earlier that morning. The topic of serial killers was one that would undoubtedly prevail for the better part of the day and even the week, but Ryoma did not want to think how long the discussion would be if it was his own criminal past that was laid bare for his classmates to pick apart. He found himself wishing that he had spent lunchtime with Kirumi instead, though that felt like a distant option when he saw how busy she was.

Later that afternoon, as he walked down the corridors and back to the Ultimates’ quarter, Ryoma soon ran into a familiar face that he had not been expecting to see so soon: Toko Fukawa, who looked apprehensive as she walked along, a stack of papers in her arms. Ryoma observed her subtly, not wishing to let her notice that he was staring, but Toko’s gaze soon fell upon him when she drew closer. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and a flicker of recognition passed across Toko’s pale face before she ran down the hallway hastily, her head bowed and her strides long. Ryoma found himself pitying her as he watched her go, wondering just what kind of ordeal she might be enduring after last night—and like him, how many victims she felt guilty about.

When he arrived at the gym entrance, Kirumi was already there. She smiled when she saw him. “Hello,” she greeted. “I apologize if we didn’t get to speak much earlier. The kitchen staff was short a few hands.”

“It’s fine,” said Ryoma. “Not exactly the right time to talk about last night with everyone else around, right?”

“Yes, I understand,” said Kirumi as the two of them went inside the gymnasium. “How was your trip to the headmaster’s office?”

Ryoma grunted, briefly remembering the headmaster’s talk about hope. “It was interesting, I’ll give it that. And speaking of the incident, I ran into Toko Fukawa on my way here. We didn’t talk or anything. We just passed each other by.”

“I see.” Kirumi sighed. “I do hope she comes out of this just fine. I tried to speak to her earlier about her laundry, but she just shooed me away.”

“Hopefully things will come around,” Ryoma muttered, though whether he also meant that for himself, he could not say. The headmaster’s words were optimistic enough, but against the backdrop of his own bloody past, those second chances he meant may be a long way off still. Perhaps Jin Kirigiri _was_ mad after all; then again, certain thoughts and ideals never come to fruition without a stubborn touch of madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oof. Oof. And another oof. The past month was anything but good where my writing was concerned. So much writer's block that I could literally feel my brain straining as it tried to think of something. I'm so sorry, everyone. I didn't expect things to just go downhill like that and delay everything that long. I can only hope that the chapter I turned out is up to par. So exhausting.
> 
> With the holidays approaching, I don't know what things are in store, and whether I'll slow down as badly as that again. I don't want to think that I'm burning out already, and I'm gonna try to keep going at it when I get new ideas that I can actually turn into pages instead of single lines. As always, you guys are the ones I live for when it comes to this fic. Thank you so much for staying with it. I'll see you in the next one, whenever it may be. Stay safe!


	12. Anticipation

What little traction the rumors about Toko Fukawa and Genocide Jack had gained in the next couple of days dissipated as a surprise announcement was made. Kirumi had just finished her breakfast-serving duties in the cafeteria when the school’s PA system began to notify the Ultimates across the campus of an assembly at the gymnasium right after lunchtime, in connection with the upcoming summer sports festival and the preparatory evaluations for their talents. It was a rather startling surprise for some, considering how talk of the festival had died down in the weeks leading up to it, mixed in with the happenings of daily school life and burying the notion that the first evaluation would be upon them not long afterwards. On Kirumi’s part, she did remember that an announcement would be made about the festival, but only Ryoma came to her mind now as she wondered how he was doing in terms of his decision to practice tennis again. The incident with Genocide Jack had ostensibly forestalled any development on the prospect, with Ryoma not bringing up any hint about practicing even during their exercise sessions at the gym together. And that was not the only thing that Kirumi wanted to bring up since that topsy-turvy evening, with her curiosity for his story about Isabella lulling just enough to keep her wondering when she would hear the continuation of the tale.

When their morning classes had ended, everyone went off to lunch talking rather excitedly about the upcoming assembly. No details had been given by their professors, leaving them to wonder what exactly would be in store. Even the pamphlets they had given had not specified any dates, offering only a background of what the sports festival wishes to promote and telling them to wait for any further developments that may come. Kirumi walked at the back of their group, in stride with Ryoma on her right. The two of them looked at each other fleetingly, exchanging only cordial nods. They had eaten lunch with the rest of the class as opposed to their usual routine at Ryoma’s room, but Kirumi did not fret, knowing there would be plenty of time to talk in relative privacy with him later.

“I’m betting they’ll just start evaluating us as soon as we all arrive at the gym,” Kaito declared as they walked down the corridor. “It’s one way of testing our skills _and_ our readiness. That way, they’re gonna see those who aren’t cut out for it and root them out.”

“But wouldn’t that be too much this early?” Shuichi suggested. His nervous air was justified, as Kirumi knew he would be one of the students who would be creating exhibits for their talents. A surprise evaluation would undoubtedly leave him and the others at a stark disadvantage compared to those with more practical talents.

“Yes, Gonta not catch enough bugs yet for evaluation!” said Gonta, his hulking appearance belying the timid anxiousness on his face. “Gonta not even sure if collection is ready to show. Some bugs not lay eggs yet for hatching demonstration!”

“And my magic hasn’t helped me prepare yet,” Himiko joined in. “I still need a few days’ worth just to make sure I have enough MP for my body to keep up with the stress. It’s all just a big pain.”

“No need to worry, Himiko!” Tenko interjected eagerly. “I’ll help you prepare your body if you want. I-In fact, we can do that tonight at my room, if you want! Night training is always a good option!”

“The evaluation won’t happen today,” Maki commented bluntly, “not unless the school wants half of the student body giving a poor showing. You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Momota.”

“Alright, alright, I’m just saying that maybe it’ll happen,” said Kaito. “We’re Ultimates and all, so it should be expected of us to be always ready.”

“If they do hold the evaluation today, what exactly do you plan on doing then, Kaito?” Kokichi asked him frivolously as he walked a step behind him. “I’m pretty sure no one in the school wants to watch a starry-eyed windbag wear himself out for a couple of hours talking about space.”

“You’ve got a big mouth for someone who can only offer lies and tricks, you little bastard!” Kaito snapped, glowering over his shoulder at him.

“Whoa, that’s quite enough, I think,” said Rantaro, though he himself was chuckling at the confrontation. “I know you two like going at it, but try not to yell too much. People might stare.”

“He started it, alright?!” Kaito grumbled.

“Rantaro is right. Please keep your voices down,” Kirumi reminded them.

“Just because Kokichi started it doesn’t mean you have to keep it up, Kaito,” Kaede told him admonishingly. “Can’t you just ignore him when he picks on you?”

Tenko scoffed with great disdain. “Typical of degenerate males to always disrupt the peace with their fights, beating their chests, thinking it makes them heroes. This is why you deserve to have your necks squeezed like a mouse being strangled by a snake, until your eyes pop out of your sockets!”

“That . . . might be a bit too far, Tenko,” said Kaede with an uncomfortable laugh.

Kokichi merely grinned, unfazed, as he looked over at Kaito. “For your information, Mr. Loony-nary of the Stars, lies get past people a lot easier than you think. But that doesn’t mean they’re the only things I have for that boring little evaluation. Of course, as the Ultimate Supreme Leader, I always have to have something in store in case I want the world to change. Who knows? Maybe on the day of that evaluation, the free world will end as you know it, shaped with a flick of my villainous wrist! In fact, I can come ahead of schedule and do it at the sports festival if you want!”

“That’s a fancy way of saying you’ll give us all laughs, ‘cuz for sure you’ll just be dropping yoghurt in front of the school,” Miu jeered at him. “If it’s world-changing talent the plebs wanna see, they don’t need to look further than the gorgeous girl genius, Miu fuckin’ Iruma! Wait ‘til they see the box of goodies I’ve cooked up!”

“Only if someone ordered a heaping pile of ‘extreme uselessness and disappointment’ with a helping of ‘vulgar pig bitch’ on the side,” Kokichi shot back dryly.

Miu’s face turned pink at that. “V-Vulgar pig bitch?!” she spluttered, her breath rising as she twirled a shaky finger around one of her strawberry blonde locks. “Ugh, t-that’s . . . that’s a good one. . .”

“Geez, Miu, you’re going all weird again,” Kaede remarked, shaking her head.

“Er, when exactly _isn’t_ she weird?” Tsumugi joined in.

“You shouldn’t talk to Miu like that, Kokichi. You always go too far with her,” Keebo said with a reproachful look at Kokichi. As anxious as he looked at the prospect of exposing himself as a target to the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s playful jabs, he seemed determined enough now to speak his mind.

“Ooh, now this is something new! Standing up for the potty-mouthed skank?” said Kokichi with a sly grin. “Has she finally turned more than a few gears in you during your little sessions together, Keeboy?”

Keebo recoiled. “T-That is none of your business! Miu has been very helpful with my maintenance, and there is nothing wrong with that!” he said. Next to him, Miu looked away with embarrassment, but she did not say anything else.

“Please keep your voices down,” Kirumi repeated. “There are professors about.”

In spite of her occasional admonitions, however, the banter continued all the way to the gymnasium, with students from the other classes glancing over whenever Kaito or Tenko raised their voices to silence Kokichi’s unbeatable mischief. The professors surprisingly paid them no heed, though once Kiyotaka Ishimaru’s voice rang out clearly down the corridor, reminding everyone to walk in orderly fashion and to lower the tone of their voices. Along the way, Kirumi looked idly around until her gaze fell upon Ryoma once more. Sensing her eyes on him, Ryoma looked up at her.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

Kirumi felt a little puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“This little assembly,” Ryoma stated. “What do you think they have planned for us?”

“Oh.” Kirumi looked up as they drew closer to the gymnasium’s doors. “I haven’t heard of anything from the other students, and I’m certain Kaede hasn’t either. It has to be related to the festival’s itinerary, though. We have yet to receive any word about the program they have planned, and with September only more than a month away, it’s plausible that they will finalize everything today.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Ryoma muttered. “No matter when the festival or the evaluation will be, I might be in some trouble. I haven’t practiced at all just yet.”

“There is still plenty of time for you to begin until then.”

“We’ll see. I wanna prepare myself mentally, but I’m worried I might get cold feet after today.”

Kirumi regarded him with concern, but said nothing else. Anxiety was a sensitive matter, especially for someone who was about to take the first few steps back in a life that he once knew. Ryoma also kept quiet, seemingly dwelling on a few private thoughts on his own as he walked in silence along with the rest of them. He was far from being the cold, distant figure that Kirumi had initially known him to be, but there were still hints of his doubt and grimness that seeped through the cracks in his newfound, budding resolve. Not for the first time, she hoped that his personal demons and the mounting pressure of academic life would not erode what he had built up.

The gymnasium was already rather crowded by the time the last batch of students had arrived. The Ultimates stood on the hardwood floors facing the stage, flanked by a number of tables and bulletin boards with lists tacked on them, not unlike the ones that bore the class lists on their first day at Hope’s Peak. The white-clad members of the morals committee were walking around and keeping everyone in line, making sure that no one was being disruptive or disorderly and barking admonitions to those who were talking too loudly with one another. Their presence soon put a stop to the bickering between Kaito and Kokichi, eliciting a sigh of relief from Kaede and the rest.

As they stood ready, a small podium was being set up on the stage, the school crest shining on its front like a beacon. Kirumi looked around, taking in the number of Ultimate students in the gymnasium; though they were not as plentiful as the students in the Reserve Course, it did not dispel the unique aura they possessed. In her mind, it was remarkable to know just how much talent and potential can be found concentrated in the figures that were now converging around her, and it felt even more profound to actually know that some of them were her new acquaintances now. To their group’s right, Class 77-B was being herded into place, forming a line just like the rest of them. On their left, Class 78 was only just starting to shift in place, and Kirumi felt a slight pang when she spotted the timid figure of Toko Fukawa among them. Toko looked as if she was about to faint, no doubt bothered by the fact that she was made to show her face after her near-mishap with Genocide Jack; though her lack of composure gave way to dreamy bliss when Byakuya Togami passed by, striding through the rest like they were unworthy of a mere gaze from him. Among the other familiar faces, Sakura Ogami was one of the scant few who stood tall enough to dwarf everyone else around them, her height matched only by the likes of Gonta and rowdy Nekomaru Nidai from Class 77-B. Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer and Class 77-B’s class representative, greeted Kaede with a polite wave when she saw her; Aoi was all smiles when she sidled up next to Sakura, even saying hello to those in their class that she had not met yet; and when Peko Pekoyama passed by close to their spot on the floor, Kirumi noticed her giving Ryoma a brief nod of acknowledgment as she walked past him.

Headmaster Jin Kirigiri showed up not long after everyone else had gathered. Wearing a simple grey suit with his hair combed only slightly, he took to the stage and walked over to the podium, looking rather unremarkable for a figure of authority compared to the stone-faced entourage of older men that followed behind him, with their black suits and greying hair and lined faces. Still, that was what Kirumi found admirable in him when she had been called to the headmaster’s office to give her account regarding the incident with Toko Fukawa and Genocide Jack. The headmaster was obviously a simple man, but his conviction and dream for Hope’s Peak was evident in the things Kirumi had heard from him that day, and it was this kind of resolve and commitment that she found admirable in those who stood as both self-professed and unspoken trailblazers of modern society.

As soon as the headmaster stood ready to speak on the podium, the entire gymnasium fell silent. Behind him, the men in suits looked upon everyone else with imperious looks on their elderly faces, but it was Jin Kirigiri’s younger, smiling countenance that the students were focused upon.

“Good day to you all,” he said, his voice ringing from the speakers on the gymnasium’s walls. “It’s wonderful to see you gathered here today as you had done on your first day of school. Now, I hope everyone is present right now, since the proceedings will begin very shortly. As you might have heard earlier, the upcoming sports festival _and_ the preliminary evaluations you will have before the practical exams on September are the main concerns for this impromptu gathering. Firstly, it has been decided that the festival will be held in two weeks’ time from today. That is why we’ve decided to hold the sign-ups for the festival events today here in the gymnasium, as opposed to giving your class representatives a list for you to fill up. You will find them on the bulletin boards around you. Simply approach the members of the morals committee and some of your professors who will be assisting you in case you have any questions.”

Like with some of her schoolmates, Kirumi looked upon the tables and bulletin boards around them as the headmaster spoke. A few whispers fired up as some began debating excitedly on what events the festival will have, while some mused in silence. The mutterings died down quickly, however, when Headmaster Kirigiri continued speaking.

“Now, this entire endeavor is two-pronged, for not only will this make things more convenient for everyone involved, but we feel that it would be a nice time to help each and every one of you form the first few bonds of solidarity with your fellow Ultimates. Until now, most of you have only interacted with each other only sparingly, or seldom beyond the boundaries of the class you’re in. Here at Hope’s Peak, we always stress the importance of being integral, dynamic members of society, and for that we wish to help you nurture strong ties with your fellow students as a start. For this, you will have the rest of the day off to do what you will. We hope that starting today, you are able to communicate in the spirit of camaraderie with one another in the days leading up to the summer sports festival and beyond, and possibly create connections that will last for the rest of your lives as you begin the journey of becoming symbols of hope in today’s society.

“Lastly, there is the aforementioned matter of your preliminary evaluations. I will put it as simple as this: they will be held the week after the sports festival. The Steering Committee feels that by having it that way, you will maximize the time you are given in preparing for the festival and use it to prepare for the evaluations as well. A little hectic, yes, but we trust that as Ultimates, you will do your very best to make a commendable first impression.”

The whispers fired up again at that, no doubt triggered by how close the evaluations actually were now. Some students voiced their agitation and even their indignation, while some appeared too uneasy to express their worry. Some, like Kirumi, accepted the news with stoic determination.

Headmaster Kirigiri raised a hand, and slowly the buzzing voices around the gymnasium died down again. The remainder of his talk was grounded in the same vein as before, about the significance of hope in building the foundation for the bright future ahead of them. The students listened in, both with a mixture of anticipation towards the sign-ups and worry for what awaited them in the near future.

“Now then, I think that will be all. Again, if you have any questions or clarifications about the sign-ups, the morals committee and your professors are there to help. Again, good day to you all, and may the upcoming weeks be nothing but productive and meaningful for you!”

With that, he stepped back and took his leave of the student body with a polite bow, exiting to the left. The men in suits followed him once again, discussing things in low voices with one another. At the podium, a brown-haired male student took up the microphone, the white cuff on his right arm signifying his status as a member of the Student Council.

“Everyone, please take the time to deliberate with your classmates before signing up for any events,” he said in a clear voice. “Any listings at the end of one hour will be final. The gymnasium will remain open for everyone afterwards, but please try not to crowd the premises too much or loiter for too long. Thank you.”

In the wake of his words, the student body soon began to scatter across the gymnasium, converging into large groups that began to huddle close to the bulletin boards and tables around the floor. Voices reverberated loudly against the cavernous walls, muffling the many footfalls of students passing by. The morals committee members began herding would-be signees into manageable lines at the tables, separating them from those who hung back to deliberate on their choices.

Kaede led the way on the bulletin board nearest to their class, checking the list and relaying what was written on it to the rest of them. “Major events include basketball, volleyball, soccer and a scavenger hunt. Minor events include table tennis, softball, a three-man relay race, and a three-legged race.”

Miu hooted loudly, putting everyone’s reactions to a momentary halt. “What kind of events are _those_?!” she shouted. “A three-legged race? A fuckin’ scavenger hunt? _Really?_ Are there seriously uncut losers out there who think we’re kids and shit?!”

“It’s what the school has planned for the festival, Miu, so there’s nothing we can really do about it,” Kaede told her with a stern look before going over the lists again. “Each event has categories for both male and female students. The class has to participate in at least three of the major events, and each student in the class needs to join at least two events regardless of whether it’s a major one or not.” She laughed a little. “I guess that makes it easier for us non-sporty types.”

“I want to say dibs on the scavenger hunt, but wouldn’t that make it seem like I’m skipping out on the others?” Tsumugi asked shamefacedly. “Then again, I’ve seen enough episodes of _Hearts and Smiles: The Bizarre Romantic Life of Oko Ijo_ to know that sports festival arcs don’t end well for plain side characters.”

“But I don’t think they expect any groundbreaking performances from all of us,” Shuichi remarked. “In itself, the festival puts students with no great athletic skill or talent at a disadvantage. Students with sports-based skills are sure to beat them easily. But since the school want us to team up, both athletic students and non-athletic ones, it shows that as long as we participate and do what we can, that’s more than enough. No one needs to put up a championship-caliber game.”

“Exactly. Thanks for pointing that out, Shuichi,” said Kaede with a smile, making the Ultimate Detective blush.

“But wouldn’t that mean those who lack athletic skills will immediately go for the easier events?” Korekiyo remarked quietly, cupping his chin on his bandaged right hand. “That would mean the athletic students will also be at a disadvantage, carrying the class through the hectic events.”

“Atua tells me that whoever volunteers for the rest of us will be most blessed by Him!” Angie proclaimed, clapping her hands. “And you will also get a free twenty percent discount on any merchandise you wish to buy from my island, though the offer only lasts for the next half-hour!”

“Instead of choosing for ourselves, what if we just list down those who want to volunteer freely for some events because they can handle it, and then draw lots for the rest who can’t?” Tenko suggested eagerly. “That way, it’ll be fair for every one of us! The able ones won’t have to carry the harder events on their own, and the less capable are able to pull their own weight.”

“That’s actually a good idea, Tenko,” Kaede remarked with a nod. “What do you think, guys?”

“Yeah, I’m down with that,” said Kaito with a shrug.

“Sounds fine with me,” Rantaro joined in, grinning.

Miu clicked her tongue. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s just fucking get this over with so I can go back to my project.”

“Nyeeh . . . As long as no one rigs the lots, then sure,” said Himiko with a halfhearted look. “I don’t want to wake up just to find out I’m going to be on the basketball team.”

“Don’t worry, Himiko. You can turn Kokichi into a frog if he tries anything funny, and I’ll break his little frog legs afterwards,” Tenko recommended, shooting a nasty look at the Ultimate Supreme Leader. Kokichi flashed that mischievous smile he always had, but he did not respond to the threat.

“I’ll sign up for table tennis.”

The noise in the group died down as everyone looked around at Ryoma, with no one being more startled at his sudden proclamation than Kirumi. He had stepped forth now, looking on the listings with an unfathomably serious look in his round eyes. Kirumi had imagined that the lack of tennis on the events would come as some sort of relief to him, but she had not counted on him going for the closest option to it so openly.

“Well, _duh!_ ” Miu snapped. “It’s obvious that the guy with the smallest balls here will go for the event with the smallest balls, too!”

“Miu, that’s quite rude. . .” said Keebo, looking mortified on her behalf. But Ryoma seemed to ignore the jab as he looked over expectantly at Kaede.

“I’ll leave it to you, Kaede,” he said silently. “For my second event, I’ll just draw lots with the rest of you. Whatever comes, I’ll take it.”

Kaede blinked, as if her surprise was dissipating at the sound of Ryoma’s voice. “Oh s-sure thing, Ryoma,” she said with a nod before looking around. “So does anyone else wanna volunteer?”

Following Ryoma’s surprising initiative, the others of the class soon followed. Kaito signed up for basketball and soccer, more out of a self-professed desire to help the class as a heroic figure of sorts instead of any actual skill in both sports. Rantaro volunteered freely as well, relying on his experiences as a participant in sports games during his tenure at his former school. Gonta also expressed his eagerness in joining some of the major events that involved a ball, though the class had to explain to him for a while that throwing fruits and seeds around in wild games with his forest family was far different from things like basketball and soccer. Unsure of where her Neo-Aikido would fit in, Tenko took up spots instead for volleyball and the three-legged race, citing how her running speed would be useful from all the times she and her master had chased down gropers on train stations. The rest hung back and chose instead to wait for lots to be drawn; Kirumi counted herself among them, as she decided that helping her classmates win would be her top priority regardless of which lot she would end up drawing. In the end, she ended up in the relay race and scavenger hunt events, while Ryoma landed in the three-legged race for his second event.

Once the listings had been finalized with everyone’s consent—and far away from any of Kokichi’s mischief and tampering—Kaede filled in everything and waited until the officers in charge of their table set everything in proverbial stone. Soon, all that was left was for them to spend the rest of the day however they wish. Some students left rather quickly, with Korekiyo, Maki, Kokichi and Miu among them, though most seemed to linger and at least follow Headmaster Kirigiri’s suggestion of bonding with one another. Though she already knew quite a good number of her fellow Ultimates from other classes due to all the times she had been providing her maid services to them, Kirumi was more than happy to bond with her schoolmates for a while.

Soon, they started going off on their own, with Kirumi joining Ryoma and the rest of Kaede’s group. Kaede, Kaito and Tenko led the way, greeting Ultimates from the other classes and chatting with those who stopped by to talk for a while. Chiaki Nanami was one of them, flanked by a few of her classmates when they ran into each other at one corner of the gymnasium. In spite of her reserved demeanor, Chiaki greeted each and every one of them politely, and stepped aside to let her classmates introduce themselves. Redheaded Mahiru Koizumi had the same openness and sense of reliability that Kaede had, though she did not speak much as she lingered at the sidelines instead, taking photos with her SLR camera. In stark contrast, Gundham Tanaka stupefied everyone with his imperious theatrics and archaic-sounding language, speaking with a resounding tone that was undoubtedly jarring to those who had hitherto not met the Ultimate Breeder in person. Sonia Nevermind joined in the discussion not long afterwards, stunning everyone from Class 80-A with the fact that she was the Ultimate Princess; in spite of the fact that she was of royal blood, she spoke to everyone as openly as any commoner would, though her radiant beauty momentarily made Shuichi, Kaede, Tenko and Kaito unable to speak. In return, their group seemed most interested in Keebo, whose robotic appearance stood out the most, though the Ultimate Robot seemed more nervously flattered than terrified at being asked many questions about his functions and composition. However, none from Class 77-B’s group was more enthusiastic and awestruck by all of them than Nagito Komaeda, who joined in their conversation from out of nowhere. Tall and thin, with pale skin and wavy white hair, Kirumi always found him to be a unique case even among Ultimates with his talent as one of Hope’s Peak Academy’s two Ultimate Lucky Students; even Nagito did not seem to consider his talent to be any sort of importance, as he stressed over and over with an oddly intense fervor how beautiful and inspiring the rest of them were as Ultimates compared to someone as lowly as him.

As the hour drew on, encounters with other students also began taking place. One of the newer faces involved Chihiro Fujisaki from Class 78. A little shorter than Himiko, with an innocent, almost doll-like appearance, the Ultimate Programmer seemed too nervous to talk to anyone at first; but a little coaxing from Kaede and Tenko soon had her responding to them more openly, showing a certain kind of interest in Keebo as the members of Class 77-B had done. Aoi and Sakura joined them shortly, speaking to the others with the same cordiality they afforded Ryoma and Kirumi at their workout sessions, and soon others from their class followed. In particular, the arrival of Sayaka Maizono left some in their group speechless once again, her bubbly girl-next-door personality dispelling the fact that she was both the Ultimate Pop Sensation and a famous Japanese idol. Her fiery-haired classmate Leon Kuwata quickly sidled up to her, seemingly intent on continuing an interrupted conversation and acknowledging the rest of them with just an unenthused smile when Shuichi and Kaito recognized him as the Ultimate Baseball Star. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with them, Sayaka left with Leon, leaving their places to be filled by Taka and the tall, strapping Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, Mondo Owada. Mondo appeared unfriendly at first, seemingly cementing his reputation as the leader of Japan’s largest and most notorious delinquent gang, but his aloofness seemed more out of a certain awkwardness at bonding with others more than any hostility on his part.

By the end of an hour, the students in the gym had all but gone, prompting everyone to go on their own ways. With Shuichi, Kaede and Kaito leaving last to go look for Maki, Kirumi went with Ryoma back to the dorms. Kirumi waited until the two of them were completely alone, making sure that she would not be badgering Ryoma so soon after the encounters at the gymnasium. Ryoma had not talked much, only speaking when spoken to by their schoolmates, and apart from the few who recognized him for the tennis ace he was, no one had asked or said anything that might have bothered him.

“Looks like you were mostly right about what they had planned,” Ryoma said suddenly, when the two of them entered the main building once again. “With the sports festival itinerary and listings, I mean.”

“It was a lucky guess,” said Kirumi. “And quite a surprise too, with the preliminary evaluations coming so soon after the festival. I expect we’ll all be a lot busier in the coming days.”

“Yeah.” Ryoma sighed, finishing his candy cigarette with one last bite. “Shuichi’s right, though. I doubt anyone’s gonna be ultra-competitive. It’s just a festival, not a tournament, so there’s no need to go all-out. Besides, if there’s anyone who has to drive themselves hard prepping for it, it’ll be me, and only because I need to get the last bits of rust out.”

“Very well. Will you be starting your practice sessions tomorrow?”

“Tonight, actually.”

The reply startled Kirumi. She had expected Ryoma to mull for at least quite some time about the developments involving the festival, but the tone in Ryoma’s voice brooked no hesitation. Perhaps it was the grim tone in his voice that suddenly worried her so.

“But we still have our workout session at the gym later at four,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Ryoma quietly. “That’ll give me an hour or two to rest, and then I can go practice. That’ll help me become a little more productive starting tonight.”

Kirumi hesitated for a moment. “Pardon me, Ryoma, but wouldn’t you be straining yourself too hard then?” she inquired with concern. “Exercising is fine, but to follow it up with more rigorous activity instead of resting for the rest of the day . . . it might be more detrimental instead of productive.”

Ryoma sighed, slowing down his pace. The last thing Kirumi wanted was to hold him back where his growth and improvement were concerned, but she also did not want a repeat of what happened last time when he had pushed himself too far.

“I know it might come off as a reckless choice,” Ryoma stated, “but I decided earlier at the assembly that I’ve put it off for too long already. I don’t want to grow complacent with my time, or with the fact that the festival is more about participation than competition. Besides, I’m not doing this just for the festival, but also for the evaluations, and then for September. It’s gonna be a rough road, and I’m just scared that I might not have enough time to reach the goal I set for myself at the end of it with the little time I’m given.”

Kirumi nodded. “I understand. Time may not be as plentiful as we’d want it to be, but I want you to remember that you will have all the help I can give you, if you would have it. Just . . . please don’t forget to take care of yourself as well. “

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to remember when to cool my jets. I just hope it won’t be too much to ask for your help tonight.”

“It’s fine. As long as I can help, I’ll do my best. What do you need me to do?”

Ryoma paused for a moment, thinking as they walked down a corridor. The hesitation on his part was still noticeable, though he managed to beat it back down. “Alright, would you mind asking if they can open the gym tonight so that I can practice there? Not the exercise room, but the gymnasium itself,” he replied. “I’m also wondering if they have a backboard that I can use. That way, I won’t have to use the gym walls.”

“Very well. I’ll inquire as soon as we finish with our exercise session later,” said Kirumi. “What else do you need?”

“In case they _don’t_ want me using the gym, can you ask if they have ball machines? That way, maybe I can just practice somewhere on the field.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Would you like me to accompany you when you practice?”

Ryoma paused as he mulled on the thought. “It’d be fine with me, but wouldn’t you get bored? I mean, you’ll probably end up watching me practice, and it might be bothersome if you have to just following after me, picking up wayward balls and stuff.”

“It’s fine. That is part of my commitment in helping you,” said Kirumi. “There may be times when I am needed elsewhere by the other students, but I will make sure to check on you every now and then, and help you clean up when you are done.”

Sighing, Ryoma looked away. “This is gonna take some getting used to, not gonna lie,” he admitted with a brief chuckle. “But I’m gonna see if I can manage it. I still have second thoughts, but after seeing what happened at the gym, it got me thinking somewhat.”

“What do you mean?”

“The assembly. Seeing everyone gathered like that. It made me realize what kind of privilege it is to be here with you all. I still don’t know if I truly deserve it, with my actual standing in society, but at the very least, it helps me see what kind of hope the headmaster told me about.”

Kirumi nodded. “Yes, the headmaster’s ideals make sense once you see exactly what the school promotes and inspires in us all. That observation you had is something I experienced earlier as well. It does make you imagine how remarkable it is to be counted in such an environment—and with such outstanding individuals too. It marks a profound chapter of my life, especially for someone who was told that they could never go far living in servitude as a maid.”

Ryoma looked up at her immediately. “Who told you that?”

Kirumi hesitated for a moment. “My parents.”

The surprise was evident on Ryoma’s face; no doubt he had not expected her to speak about her family, or perhaps having grown so used to seeing her as a maid, classmate and fiend, he had not considered even asking her about them. Still, he could hardly be faulted for thinking so. Even Kirumi was astonished at herself for remembering her parents; it was something that she never discussed with anyone, both out of personal choice and the fact that she focused solely on her budding career as a maid instead of dwelling on her past. Some can argue that her commitment to her duty and career path was dreadfully effective at that, for it had allowed her to effectively bury her memory of her upbringing deep down until nothing remained, to the point where bringing up even a mere mention of it felt alien to her.

When Ryoma was still unable to say anything, she decided to ease up the sudden tension. “That was a long time ago, before I started out at Milky Way. Most of the people I’ve met don’t know about them.”

Ryoma nodded. “Sorry if I never asked. It’s just . . . It never crossed my mind to ask.”

“It’s okay. In your defense, it’s something I never bring up,” said Kirumi with a small laugh. “Apart from wishing to focus solely on my duties, I would consider that point of my life forgotten already. Not that it was insignificant. After all, if not for them, I would not have chosen this career path in the first place.”

“I see. . .” Ryoma’s expression looked rather regretful. “I don’t know if I even want to ask about them.”

“It is of no great concern. I’ve always considered it so,” said Kirumi. “No master would want to hear much about their maid’s family or past. It is my services they need, and I would rather give them that than stories that are of no use to their lives and needs.”

“But I’m your friend, Kirumi, not your master,” Ryoma reminded her. He sighed again, the conflict on his face evident. “I want you to feel as such. We both agreed that you’re not with me all the time because I’m your master or anything. We would treat each other as friends and classmates, and I want to keep doing that however I can. That’s why I open up to you about stuff that I wouldn’t normally share to anyone. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to share as well. If you want to talk about these things, feel free to do that. If it’s too personal to share, you don’t have to share it, but with normal stuff like middle school and all, that’s all fine with me.” He cleared his throat briefly, drawing in his breath like he was nervous all of a sudden. “Sorry if this seems awkward. It’s been a while since I spoke to anyone like this. . .”

Kirumi smiled appreciatively. Though she was honestly fine with keeping quiet about her own side, she was highly grateful for the openness and concern that Ryoma always showed her, whether it came in the form of his small gifts to his words of encouragement. Many in their class and outside it showed her more appreciation and cordiality than most would afford a simple maid like her, but Ryoma always stood out among them for one unfathomable reason or another.

“I understand. Forgive me if I don’t normally speak about such things on my own volition,” she said. “I will admit, sometimes I forget that I am still a high-schooler like the rest of you, which is why I end up overlooking even the simpler things like talking to one’s friends. That’s why I’m grateful that you take the time to tell me stories of your past experiences, Ryoma.”

“It’s nothing. And of course, I get where you’re coming from,” Ryoma grunted. “But if you don’t mind, I just . . . want to know more about you too. That’s all.”

Kirumi looked down at him, feeling rather surprised. The proclamation sounded as normal as any statement should, but in her mind it was as if there was an unspoken invitation somewhere in it—or even a minor confession of sorts. Perhaps it was the slight shift in tone that she noticed in Ryoma’s voice, that slight hint of hesitation that sounded a bit like shyness. Meanwhile, as if embarrassed by his own words, Ryoma turned away, pulling his beanie low over his eyes. For some reason, Kirumi found it to be a rather cute gesture, though she knew better than to tell him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I meant to have this finished and uploaded along with my DDLC fic update at the start of New Year as a gift for you guys, but alas, I lagged at the last few pages. So close. But still, I'm quite happy to have finished this a few days earlier than usual. So here you are! I do have an idea of how the next chapter will go. If circumstances are willing, I hope I'll be able to have it done sooner. See you 'til then!


	13. Nighttime Recollections

By the time he stepped out of his room and into the corridor, Ryoma knew that it was too late to back out. Plenty of time had passed after he had finished his daily workout with Kirumi at the gymnasium, giving him enough chances to change his mind about the excursion he had taken. But in the end, going against the tiniest speck of reluctance that might give him cold feet, he had decided to instead ready the tennis equipment that Hope’s Peak had given him, the same equipment that he had initially thrown aside for reasons that still lingered even now. It felt odd—wrong, even—to clean everything up and ensure that the equipment was all in place, from rackets to the cans of tennis balls. Even so, he opted to leave the tennis clothes behind, unable to bear the thought of seeing his own self clad in such apparel after spending a very long time shunning what was once his beloved sport.

The walk to the gymnasium—where Kirumi might already be waiting, no doubt—felt even more difficult now. Ryoma dug deep and stiffened his resolve, grimly aware that he would be bound to attract the eyes of any passing students as he walked among them with his tennis bag slung across his shoulder. Either they would laugh at the sight of a diminutive young man carrying a bag that was almost as big as he was, or they would whisper and mutter at the sight of a tennis ace who looked as if he was readying for a comeback on the court. It had been a great deal easier back then, when he would march through the stadium towards another match, relishing the stares of doubters who would then be proven wrong after the opposing player’s resounding thrashing. Then again, those were days that felt like they were from a lifetime ago. The walk to glory had become an unbearable walk of shame, when he had been tried before a court that was no doubt influenced by the powerful people whom he had wronged. And even that could not compare to the personal guilt he felt with the sheer amount of blood in his hands, the eyes of the people whose demise he caused boring into him whenever he was left alone with his thoughts. To stop himself from being overtaken by his growing pessimism, Ryoma focused instead on whether Kirumi had managed to secure what he had asked of her, though part of him still felt bothered by the inconvenience that he might have caused her.

By some stroke of luck, no student interrupted his grim march to the gym, though the stares and whispers could not be avoided. Most of the students he passed by were from the Reserve Course, who were only just finishing the last of their vocational classes and were now passing by the school’s main building on their way to their quarter. Ryoma kept his head down, wondering if Hajime Hinata was among those who recognized him for who he was. The Ultimates that he came across, he simply ignored, not intending to let them corner him and give his disinclination more time to set in. It seemed counterproductive to what the headmaster had asked of them earlier, but Ryoma imagined that Jin Kirigiri would understand his plight if he did know of it like he had implied before.

And then, there was the matter with Kirumi as well. Ryoma did not want to imagine that the things he had said to her earlier would be enough to change her demeanor towards him, but he could not stop himself from worrying all the same. They had been so personal, so intimate even, that anyone would easily come to a conclusion as to what he wanted to conveyed. And try as he might to deny it, to protest that he was simply trying to reinforce the strengthening foundation of his friendship with Kirumi, there was no stopping the feeling in his core, that same feeling that was starting to keep him up a little later at night as he thought of Kirumi. As hardboiled and aloof as he could be, Ryoma could not deny the joy he felt when he was with her—or the excitement he felt at wanting to know more about her, to keep talking to her, an admission that would undoubtedly fuel the rumors that were circling the two of them. Kirumi never lacked for anything that made him feel better, from her words of advice and encouragement to her warmer demeanor, which she often displayed when it was just the two of them together. It was not that she was cold to the other students, but from his perspective, he was starting notice the difference about the way she approached him; and Ryoma himself felt a little bewildered that the same case was true when he was with her, shedding the quiet façade he often showed his schoolmates and becoming a bit more open when it came to the Ultimate Maid. With all that, of course, came the choice to listen to her as intently and sincerely as she did for him, to help her feel like she could be heard and appreciated and understood as an equal, especially after the fact that she may have just inadvertently let slip the first few bits about her family life that no one seemed aware of. Ryoma wanted to know more about that, though he knew that it would come at Kirumi’s own pace should she see fit to share it with him.

Kirumi stood like a silent sentinel next to the gymnasium doors, looking almost pensive until she heard him coming. Ryoma saw that she was wearing her usual maid uniform again; then again, he knew that she would simply be waiting on him, reluctant as he was to let her, instead of joining him in any strenuous activity. After all, the training part would come only from him. She did, however, have a small tote bag with her; Ryoma remembered her mentioning how she would be bringing him some water and face towels to use.

“Good evening,” Kirumi said in greeting. “Did you rest well?”

“Just enough, I hope,” replied Ryoma. The aches in his body from their earlier workout were still present, but they were manageable enough. “So what did they say?”

Kirumi inclined her head, knowing full well what he was referring to. “They told me that you may use the gymnasium for your practice should you wish, though school rules dictate that it closes at nine o’clock in the evening, no exceptions. The same goes for the open field. As for the tennis ball machines, you can ask for them at the maintenance shed next to the field, close to the Reserve Course quarter. A caretaker should be there to help us with them.”

Ryoma nodded, feeling relieved and a little surprised as well. “Good to know that they don’t mind me training late like this. Thanks for inquiring for me.”

“You’re quite welcome,” said Kirumi, smiling. “Now, where would you prefer to practice?”

Ryoma pondered on the answer for a moment, his eyes moving from the gymnasium to the open field. Kirumi waited patiently for his reply, as she always did. “I think the gymnasium’s gonna be fine for tonight,” he replied after a while. “I mean, it’ll just involve me practicing my serves first, getting into the feel of things, see how I do. At least that way, I don’t bite off more than I can chew.”

“Understood,” said Kirumi. “Shall we proceed, then?”

“Sure thing.” _Here we go._

Compared to the earlier hours, the gymnasium was now completely devoid of people, and even the exercise room was now closed, its interior dark and its doors locked up. Without crowds of Ultimates to flock in it, the place looked more cavernous than before, even though the lights on the ceiling and the walls were still lit. The two of them walked in relative silence, Ryoma’s chains clattering on the hardwood floors. The noise they made rang hollowly throughout the empty area.

Ryoma chose the wall on the left side of the stage, far away from the doors of the exercise room so as not to draw too much attention. Before he set forth, Kirumi set him aside to tie down his chains with thread like she always did during their exercise sessions, so as to lessen the chances of him tripping over them. When the links were secured around his ankle, he set down his bag and took out what he needed as Kirumi took a seat on the nearby bleachers, giving him enough space to practice in. Ryoma went over the tennis rackets he had brought, chose one that felt best in his grip, and opened one of the cans to take out a couple of tennis balls. The rough feel of them made him falter momentarily, as the phantom sensation of an iron ball grazed his fingertips and palm. He shook his head vehemently to ward away the feeling, and realized that he had not yet warmed up. He set the balls and the racket aside and did his basic stretches, feeling more foolish by the second. The tension eased on his limbs, tired as they were from his previous workout earlier. He noticed how slow he seemed to move, and imagined whether that was out of a desire to have everything in its proper place or sheer unwillingness about getting through with his plan. But Kirumi’s eyes were already on him as she observed him in silence, making him feel more grateful for her presence; had she been absent, he might have given more focus on his own doubts than to the matter at hand.

When he was done warming up, he took up the racket and the balls, and stared at the wall that stood a few meters away before him. It was definitely wide enough that it lessened the chances of him hitting his shots towards the stage or the nearby bleachers. Still, as he readied his racket, he had to wonder just how much figurative rust he had left on his body where tennis playing was concerned. He pocketed one of the balls and dribbled the one he had chosen against the floor, letting it bounce over and over with repeated taps from his racket, the sure rhythm giving him some comfort. _At least I can do this without any problems._

But after a few more seconds of this, he knew it was now or never. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the ball in the air. It seemed to move in slow motion, and for a moment his right hand seemed to move on its own, the racket rushing through the air to meet it. Silence endured for a split-second . . .

. . . until the racket smashed the ball full on the side, sending it sailing forth like a bullet. It bounced with a dull thud against the gym floors and ricocheted towards the wall, bouncing back towards him. Everything happened in an instant, and Ryoma saw only too late that the ball had whizzed past his shoulder, bouncing away until its momentum slowed down. He turned around to look at it as it rolled away, having reached almost half of the gymnasium’s length. _My first serve in years,_ he realized.

Kirumi stood up to retrieve the ball, but he waved his racket at her. “I’ve got it,” he called out, not intending to trouble her this early in the session. He ran up to the ball and picked it up, ignoring the fact that he had one that he could have used in his pocket, still overcome by the notion that he had finally served his first real shot in a very long time. He gripped the ball tightly, as if drawing any residual energy it had in its spherical shape. Again, he stood before the wall, focusing his gaze intently on it, and readied the ball in his hand. _Focus, Hoshi,_ he grumbled darkly to himself. With another deep breath, he threw the ball in the air and served yet again. This time, as he did so, a memory flashed past him, the motion of his serve bringing back a familiar, terrible recollection.

A man in a black suit, reeling backwards as an iron ball smashed upon his face, an iron ball that Ryoma himself had launched at him with a ruined tennis racket. He was not the same man in his last nightmare, but he felt that he remembered him all the same.

Ryoma grunted like he had been punched in the gut, and again his serve went without a response. This time, he did not go after the ball, but instead stood still, his eyes closed tightly as his breath caught in his throat. His heart seemed to hike in rhythm, and a finger of chill ran down his spine. His fingers struggled to keep the racket in his grasp. Thoughts fled from his head, leaving him feeling lost. The only thing he could attempt to do was to what to the nearby bleachers to recover and regain some semblance of composure and focus. Beneath him, his legs felt like they were about to give way.

As if from some other plane of existence, Kirumi appeared next to him, already holding the tennis ball he had failed to catch. Deep concern was evident in her tone as she spoke. “Ryoma? Ryoma, are you okay?”

Ryoma exhaled, trying to steady his quickening heartbeat. A sense of dread ached in him, eating away at his core and causing his hands to tremble, but he managed to blurt out, “I’m alright.”

“Do you need anything? Water, perhaps?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. . .”

Kirumi placed a hand on his shoulder. She was so close to him that he could feel her warmth emanating from her, but Ryoma did not—indeed, could not—care any less. The growing sensation of fear and pain racked him. The dead man had gone from his vision, but he found himself anticipating that he will come back any moment to haunt him again, to make him relive everything that he had done on that dark, gruesome night years ago when he solidified his reputation as Killer Tennis.

“Ryoma, if you’re not up to this, perhaps you should reconsider,” Kirumi suggested, the worry in her voice growing even more. “This might not be good for you at this time.”

Ryoma grunted. To those who were unaware, his attack might seem like a strange occurrence, but it was obvious that Kirumi knew what exactly was happening, even though it was her first time seeing him endure such an attack. Even Ryoma himself did not experience the post-traumatic stress of his past experiences in such a manner; most of them came in his dreams, turning them into nightmares that made him anxious about falling asleep at times.

“No.” He muttered his response with a hint of vehemence, aimed more towards his plight than to her. “I’m going to do this. Tonight, if I can. I promised myself.”

Kirumi’s eyes beseeched him helplessly. He could tell that she wanted to argue, to convince him to go through with his plan on another day, but he could also sense her own disinclination at hindering his progress. Formal duty and concern clashing against each other. To reassure her, he forced himself to straighten up. The stress he felt was starting to ease, though the cold sensation remained in his body.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered to her again, his voice thick with discomfort. “I expected something like this, to be honest. It’s part of the risk. I just . . . just have to overcome it.”

“Is there any way I can help you with that?” Kirumi asked, as if ready to take on whatever she needed to do to ease his discomfort.

Ryoma looked straight into her eyes. “You’re doing enough,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I’ve got this.”

Not waiting for her reply lest his predicament take advantage of the lull, he took the ball from her hand and moved back to his spot, taking in deep breaths all the while. His arms still felt like lead, his feet even heavier so, but he willed himself to draw focus and resolve from the implements in his hands; the coarse surface of the tennis ball, and the firm rubber grip on the racket’s handle. _Focus. Focus on tennis, dammit,_ he told himself angrily.

The ball was in the air once again, and miraculously he managed to hit it. The sound of it reverberated like some giant’s hammer across the silent gymnasium. This time, channeling his frustration and resolve into the task at hand, Ryoma was readier, and as soon as the ball bounced back towards him he hit it again, sending it hurtling back to the wall it had just rebounded off of. It responded indirectly in kind, and soon he was sending back a few more shots before one of them sailed too far to the right. Immediately he ran after it, barely noticing that his body was starting to move on its own, going through the motions grimly if a little reluctantly. On the bleachers, Kirumi watched in silence, her reaction unfathomable from a distance. Throw, smash, bounce, return, repeat. The same thing happened in his next serve, and soon the trauma started to fade from his mind as his brain focused on tennis. Doubt was still there; indeed, he felt less of a prodigious champion channeling old form and more like an injured player trying to remember what it was like to play. Then again, was not that the case here?

This routine endured for the next few minutes, with each round taking longer than the last. Slowly, everything seemed to come back to Ryoma, and he only vaguely realized that he was alternating between varying forehands and backhands like he had never forgotten how to do them, the racket being brandished like a warrior’s blade looking for its mark. And each time it did, with the ball hitting the racket’s surface with one satisfying _thwack_ after another. Ryoma even noticed with surprise how he was not moving that far from the spot he was staying on, as if the ball was controlled by his own shots to hit a certain spot over and over until physics did its work, forcing him to chase the ball before it streaked off somewhere else. Even so, during the times the ball sailed too far to the left or the right, he managed to send it back where it came from and continue the round until he chose to break the stalemate himself by catching the ball. But the breaks that followed were short, giving his trauma no room to return. Before long, he was back at it, engaged in a literal and figurative duel with his own self, the battered ball fulfilling its purpose well. By the seventh round, he was already starting to sweat beneath his leather jacket and prison clothes, his breath rising and falling in small pants. The intensity in his bones felt hard to curb, the fire in him growing to a point where he felt keen to keep going for as long as he could. The high that surged through his veins felt like an old friend’s embrace, and it confounded him so much that again he had no words to say or any thoughts to express. His earlier reluctance had blown out like a candle in a storm, and though there were still flashes of his bloody past that crept at the edges of his mind, focusing on his shots helped ward them off.

After the eighth round, he decided to take a break. Twenty minutes had passed since his first serve, and he realized that all the while Kirumi was just patiently, concernedly watching him. He went back to the bleachers, sweat seeping through his beanie. Dutifully, Kirumi went over to him, a bottle of mineral water in one hand, a clean face towel in the other.

“Here,” she said, handing them over to him.

“Thank you.” Ryoma took a nourishing gulp of water, exhaling with relief and satisfaction. So steeped he was in the high of playing that he could imagine steam emanating from his countenance. Only after he had emptied the water bottle and wiped his face dry did he remember to acknowledge Kirumi. Her eyes still looked serious as she watched him.

“It’s quite the bother, isn’t it?” he asked her. “And with something like _that_ happening so early. . .”

“No, it’s fine,” said Kirumi, knowing what he meant. “It’s an understandable incident, though also something I wish I was readier for. I apologize for being unable to do anything.”

Ryoma shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Besides, I doubt anyone’ll be ready for something like that.”

Kirumi looked unconvinced. “A maid—no, a _friend_ —should be ready to help when something like that happens,” she said rather somberly. “For me, if I don’t give what you need in that moment, it is considered a failure.”

“Hey, you don’t have to beat yourself up over that,” Ryoma told her. “The fact that you were there in an instant when I got overwhelmed, that’s more than enough for me. In fact, if you weren’t here, I think I would’ve just given up after that little episode, or I’d still be waiting for it to pass.”

Kirumi was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke again, reluctance held back her words. “Do they happen often? These attacks . . . ?”

Ryoma sighed. “Not like this. Mostly, it’s just in my dreams and my private thoughts, when I’m left alone with nothing to do. I guess holding a tennis racket like this again made me remember . . . things.”

“I see. I feared as much,” said Kirumi. “That’s why I was highly worried when it seemed that you could not continue. I understand that trauma such as this is too much of a toll to bear.”

“Can’t argue with that. I’ve still got a ways to go, that much should be obvious. I’d be way in over my head if I think I’m back in great form, mentally and otherwise. But . . . I have to keep going, you know? Otherwise, I should just count myself gone and back in prison after September, back in the sorry state I was in. This chance is something I may never get again, and I don’t want it to go to waste. I’ve squandered a lot of important things already. That’s why I wanna do this, or at least try. And if there’s anyone I can trust to help me with it, it’s still you.”

Kirumi’s warm green eyes regarded him with appreciation. “Thank you for your continued trust in me, Ryoma. I’m glad to help you on this,” she said.

Ryoma shook his head. “I should be thanking _you_. And I don’t think I can ever do that enough.” Indeed, the entire experience made him marvel about many things, especially encouragement; it was surprising how far it can take a person, and though it tended to fizzle at times when it came from the wrong person or one who was too ignorant of the other’s plight, where Kirumi was concerned, he could see authenticity and warmth in every aspect of it, in spite of it being borne out of formal duty at first. Kirumi smiled at him and thanked him for his openness, unaware of just how deep his gratitude for her ran.

For the better part of the next quarter of an hour, only the sounds of tennis balls clashing against both wall and racket rang through the gymnasium’s interior, a steady beat that seemed to fall in near-perfect sync with the momentum that Ryoma had going. His beanie and prison shirt were both soaked with sweat now, but he was too focused on his playing to ever consider taking them off, even during the times he paused to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Soon, both of his hands were gripping the racket, and his serves and shots had a little more force in them, causing the ball to become nothing but a tiny green blur at times. Those were the moments that he had liked best back then, and it made him happy to know that he still felt the same way now. Outside the gymnasium, figures continued to pass by, unaware of the intense practice session going on, their silhouettes moving across the doors’ glass windows. And all the while, Kirumi was always ready with a clean towel and a new bottle of water when needed, even going to catch any of his wayward shots when needed. Ryoma finally decided to let her assist him, thanking her each time if only to make up for the inconveniences. A number of times, he would turn to see her smiling as she watched him, and twice she actually acknowledged his fiercer rallies with applause. He responded only with an awkward nod in both instances, though his gratitude ran deeper than the gesture made it out to be. Kirumi’s presence was a far cry from the crowds that used to clap for him respectfully during his games and raucously when he raised a trophy in the air, but he would not have had it any other way.

When fifteen minutes ended, Ryoma felt like he had just come back from a worthy game. The count ended at four emptied water bottles and three used face towels, with only two of the tennis balls used in the rigors of his practice. The racket stayed true to form, showing no makings of wear and tear even though he had been striking with it with all his might. Drenched in sweat, he took off his beanie and leather jacket, the cool air caressing him faintly through his prison shirt.

When he had finally managed to clean himself up, he sat down on the bleachers to rest. His muscles burned from all the exertion, from his shoulders down to his fingertips and further to his torso, combining with his earlier strains from the exercise room to form a growing inferno within him. It felt like the best thing in the world at that moment.

Kirumi sat down next to him, collecting the used towels and empty water bottles. “A fine showing, especially for your first day of practice,” she told him. “Well done, Ryoma.”

Ryoma chuckled softly. “It might be fine only to someone who’s watching. There were times when I felt like I looked foolish on the floor.”

“You weren’t, don’t worry. For what it’s worth, it was incredibly motivating to see you playing all the while.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” An earnest look crossed Kirumi’s face then. “As heavy and traumatic as your past is, Ryoma, your brilliance remains the same, only lying dormant inside you.”

Ryoma grunted. “That’s one way to put it, I guess.”

“It’s true,” said Kirumi in reply. “Nothing is more inspirational than knowing how, even with your shortcomings and tribulations, you are able to preserve the things that have helped define you, the things that made you who you are in our eyes—an Ultimate, and a great athlete besides. When you were moving earlier, hitting that ball over and over with a myriad of serves and shots, it felt as if I was having a glimpse of one of your matches. A privilege if there ever was one. For you to be able to start returning to your old form like that . . . it shows the sheer amount of skill and talent that you still have in you. And tonight, I believe I’ve seen that skill and talent come to life once more. It was nothing short of amazing.”

A hush fell between them, during which Ryoma could do nothing but stare down at the tennis racket next to him. Kirumi’s words made enough sense for him to believe in. As if by force of habit, every step and move he had made fell in its proper place, guided by nothing other than instinct and experience. It was still an alien sensation to him, knowing that he had yet to truly look forward to the feeling of engaging in a true tennis game instead of simply going through the motions with what he already knew, but he could not deny that he had just cleared the first few steps of that.

But of course, there was a hint of bitterness threatening to spoil it all, with some skepticism coloring it even further. For no matter how many times he would be playing, some memories do not exactly come off that easily. “You would think that someone as skilled as I was would be able to get back into the groove a lot sooner,” he murmured. “Back then, I would’ve had no problems doing that. I guess that’s one indication of how far I’ve fallen.”

“No, Ryoma,” Kirumi told him firmly. “Please do not downplay your efforts tonight. So much has changed, and who you were then is not the same as who you are now. There is little we can do about the past, but as I’ve said before, the future lies open for us to explore and cultivate. It is up to us to try and make the most out of it, and you have started doing just that. It is noteworthy, to say the least.”

Again, Ryoma heaved a sigh. “I guess you’re right about that,” he said. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my brain just gets the better of me, and I forget to take into value the things I do, even if they’re already staring at me in the face.”

Kirumi smiled. “I understand. I’ll do my best to keep reminding you, if that’s what it takes.”

Ryoma nodded. “Thank you. Anyway, I think that settles it for tonight. I’m gonna see if this is too much of a strain to do every night, or if I can manage even with our afternoon workouts happening beforehand. If I can, I’ll be back here by tomorrow night. Does that sound fine to you?”

“Yes. But do not hesitate to rest if you need it,” said Kirumi. “There are always more days for you to practice on should you miss out tomorrow.”

Ryoma looked upon the gymnasium’s vicinity. “Yeah, you’re right.”

They talked for a little while, with Kirumi asking minor questions about his performance and Ryoma giving what explanations he could. With the two of them being the sole occupants of the gymnasium, their words felt like mere specks in the galaxy as they floated up to the rafters. Still, Ryoma was thankful that it was just the two of them, that it was just Kirumi watching as opposed to a whole crowd, or even a handful of their classmates. That would change when the sports festival and the evaluations came, though there was still time to help him prepare for that. Again and again, she praised him for his efforts, and offered to accompany him again in his future practices if time and duty were willing. Ryoma did not promise anything in case his determination fluctuated, but he was highly appreciative for her assistance and company all the same.

When he had finished stashing his equipment away, he remembered something. “I still owe you an unfinished story, right?”

Kirumi looked around at him. “Story?”

“About Isabella,” said Ryoma. “That night when we got interrupted by Genocide Jack.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Though she said the words casually, Ryoma glimpsed what seemed to be a hint of excitement in Kirumi’s features, as if she had been anticipating the story to be continued and was simply waiting for him to continue it freely. It amused him somewhat.

“To be honest, I should’ve remembered it sooner,” he said, “especially since you were sitting by watching me, and helping me all the while. She . . . She used to do that a lot back then.”

Kirumi regarded him with earnest eyes. “Was it a problem back then?” she asked. “I mean, with her tagging along and you being a world-class athlete and all.”

“For a time it was, but not on my part,” Ryoma replied. “My manager often flew in my parents to watch me play on my big matches—a privilege we had as athletes—but he had never done it for anyone else, even my classmates. When Isabella and I got closer, I just . . . _knew_ I had to take her along. She said no a number of times, but I knew she really wanted to go.”

Kirumi smiled. “Anyone in her place would want to.”

“Maybe,” Ryoma acknowledged with a short chuckle. “It took me a long time convincing my manager to book her as well. Not to brag or anything, but if I wasn’t one of the top athletes in our group, I doubt that he’d grant my request. He did, in the end, though it fell to me to make sure that she had her own place to stay, that she wouldn’t be bothering us during practice, that sort of thing. If there was ever a time when I felt like I was a husband trying to sneak in his mistress in his public affairs, that time was it.”

Kirumi did laugh then. It was a brief but sweet sound, and one that made his heart feel at ease. “You’re not alone in that regard. Some of my employers have done worse.”

“Then you might have an idea how it went for me,” said Ryoma, chuckling along with her. “My first course of action was to tell my parents about her. It was tough, really. Talking to them through e-mail and cellphone calls, explaining everything without being there in person—though I should be grateful for that. I might’ve been bombarded by questions if I talked to them face to face. They were more than happy, though a little surprised since she was a foreigner. Isabella was dead scared of talking to them at first, but they got along well quickly enough, mainly because my parents always wondered why I never had a girlfriend.”

He shook his head, smiling to himself. “It didn’t take long before my friends found out about her too. She insisted on going to some of my practice sessions, against my manager’s wishes, but he agreed in the end when I promised him that she wouldn’t be disrupting our progress. She met the gang, and they warmed up to her as well. Brought her along to our gatherings, since there was no rule against that. She liked drinking, and she could handle her liquor better than I ever could. The guys loved seeing us together, and she was fine with that. She did most of the teasing anyway, and she loved seeing me get embarrassed when we were in front of other people. But she'd always apologize when it was just the two of us, telling me that she didn't mean the jokes. Personally, I didn't mind. It always lightened my mood when she did that.”

Kirumi stared wordlessly at him for a while, her eyes full of wistful sympathy. "She truly does sound like an amazing girl,” she remarked softly at last.

“She was,” Ryoma stated. “She really was.” As expected, a pang of sadness gripped him as he spoke of these things; of his family, his friends, and Isabella most of all. It felt like a lifetime ago when he had come to them after his games, celebrating at a restaurant privately somewhere with Isabella in tow, or having her watch them during their practice sessions in some private court, not unlike the way Kirumi had done. He opened up a fresh bottle of water and took a deep gulp, heaving a sigh as he swallowed. The pain and yearning ached inside him more than any physical strain could. He wanted to keep going, if only to present even more of his memories about Isabella that he had kept quiet about; of her openness, her wit, the way she was ready to pick on him just enough so that he could push himself further whenever he had a big match coming; of the way she made him feel less insecure about being a diminutive athlete in a world full of tall, muscular and handsome players; of how she loved him for that, and in spite of that. But he found himself unable to say anything more as he remembered where his story was heading, where all the blood and pain and sorrow lay, the final glaring pages of the cautionary tale about recklessness that was his downfall.

Seemingly unwilling to let the atmosphere take a somber turn at his expense, Kirumi placed her hands neatly atop her lap and said earnestly, “Now then, I think a story such as that merits another one in return.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I did mention my parents, right?”

That surprised Ryoma somewhat. “What about them?” he asked tentatively.

“I just imagined that . . . well, it wouldn’t be fair if I’m always the only one who gets to hear about someone else’s life. That’s why I thought that perhaps I should be telling my own stories too,” replied Kirumi. “Again, this is not something I would talk about with people, but if it’s you . . .” She hesitated for a second, her composure hitting the tiniest of snags. “Is it truly just fine if—?”

“Yes, it is,” Ryoma said immediately. “Kirumi, you don’t have to ask for permission for that. We’re friends, right? You can speak freely around me, it’s not a problem. Again, If there’s a person who I can trust enough to talk to about these kinds of things, it’d be you.” He shook his head, laughing a little. “Then again, I do that sometimes, asking for permission first before I bother someone with what I want to share, so I’m a bit of a hypocrite myself.”

Kirumi smiled, her beautiful eyes twinkling. “I understand. Perhaps starting tomorrow, we can help each other curb that habit.”

“Hopefully. If I do it again, don’t be afraid to scold me.”

“Scolding might be a little too much, Ryoma.”

More laughter between the two of them, soft and sincere as they agreed wordlessly on the prospect, until they quieted down. Kirumi said nothing more as she stared out at the open spaces of the gymnasium, as if looking for something that was so far away. It gave Ryoma a chance to observe her closely as he waited for her to speak.

“I used to live in Nara,” Kirumi said softly. “Our family was one of the wealthier ones there, and I was my parents’ only child. My life was as ordinary as it could be, if you didn’t count the lavish lifestyle my parents led. We had a few maids taking care of the housework; growing up with them in the house, I managed to observe them at their work, and even talked to them when I could. They spoke with unfailing courtesy every single time, though admittedly that made it difficult for me to ask them other things. Nevertheless, I took note of their routines, and watched how they served my parents unfailingly. As I got older, I began seeing the more profound aspects of being a maid. The poise they exuded, the diligence they maintained, and the consistency they strove to uphold. I saw how they took everything in stride, even the severe criticism of how they handled their duties. For me, it was nothing short of amazing to be able to deliver like that, and I learned to truly appreciate how much effort it takes to preserve such composure and devotion to duty, even if you have a master breathing down your neck.

“But the more I observed, the more I saw the flaws that my parents had in dealing with our maids. They treated them the way you’d expect them to—harshly, always with some form of negativity that came from being their master, regardless of how perfect their work is—and I resented them for it. I was frustrated that they couldn’t see what I saw, and understand the things I noticed. Young and rash as I was, I quarreled with them about it a few times, and they told me that I didn’t need to fraternize with helpers like them, not when I had more important things to look forward to.”

At this, Kirumi glanced down at herself, seemingly taking in the sight of her own maid uniform like it was giving her more memories to recall. “They had plans for me—enrolling me in some prestigious school in Germany to prepare me for our family business, if I remember correctly. My mind, however, was set on another goal entirely: to become a maid. I don’t remember the exact words they said to me when I told them about it, but I remember explaining to them how I came to that choice. I told them that being a maid is not the artless and demeaning task that they and so many others see it to be. Rather, it involved impeccable poise, patience, and devotion most of all, which all people strive for regardless of what profession they have. To prove that, I said, I would be glad to become a maid and serve people’s needs. You can guess how that turned out in the end.”

That was indeed an easy enough guess, Ryoma knew. He had always wondered if Kirumi’s formal bearing had more to do than just her profound diligence to her duties as a maid. Had he thought of guessing on his own, somehow he felt that he should have expected her to have such a past. He could also sense a touch of heaviness in her tone at the end; no doubt Kirumi was starting to realize certain things that she might have overlooked before in her decision to move on from her past. Still, it felt gratifying to hear it come from her own lips, to know that she was now opening up to him a lot more than before, that she was entrusting him with a story that she had never told anyone in such a way—personal, from one friend to another, rather than as a maid formally explaining her background to her master.

“Thank you. You know, for sharing that with me,” he said after a while, feeling a little self-conscious at his lackluster reply. It was the only thing that came to his mind at the moment, an attempt to not make the silence stretch on for too long as to be considered oppressive.

Kirumi smiled, belying the potential heaviness of her recollections. “Much better than talking about konjac, yes?” she asked with amusement.

“Hey now, that story was also good,” said Ryoma. “I mean, good in the sense that it helped me see more of your character too.”

“My weaknesses, you mean,” Kirumi mused. “But it’s fine. At any rate, I’m glad that I can share my tales with you. I’m starting to feel that I can keep going, at least with you.”

Ryoma nodded. “I’m pleased you think so. Does that mean we’ll have even more things to talk about at lunchtime?” he asked, chuckling so as not to sound too hopeful.

Kirumi picked up on his tone easily enough, however. “Yes, I suppose that’s the case now,” she said warmly. Ryoma nodded with a smile, and turned back to look around at the gymnasium. Between his first day of actual tennis practice and the deepening bond between him and Kirumi, he could not tell which gave him more hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a wild unexpected chapter update appears!
> 
> The thing about this chapter is that since it was a direct continuation of the last one (similar to the other ones), writing it came a little bit easier than I expected, and now I'm just stoked to know that I didn't make you guys wait for a month or so for it. I hope you'll enjoy the read!
> 
> I'll see if I can turn in the next one as quickly as I did with this one. I'm still figuring out where and when I can put in some stuff that I have planned. Hopefully it goes a little more smoothly. See you until then. Cheers!


	14. At The Field

The days progressed with a heightened air of anticipation and diligence. Aware now of the oncoming challenges that would help seal their places in Hope’s Peak, the Ultimates started working even harder. Classes were held with a number of activities in mind, both written and practical, all designed to help get them in the proper mindset in time for the summer sports festival and their preliminary evaluations, where the wheat will be separated from the chaff. Some struggled, if only to still wonder how their talents can be displayed properly. Those who already had an idea on what to do were the openly confident ones, who looked forward to the events with gusto, with their heads held high as the days drew closer to the festival. Familiar groups in class bonded together to discuss their prospects, comparing progress and trying to imagine how they would fare in the festival events. In some cases, even those less likely to converse with one another found meaningful advice from each other.

Today, their afternoon classes will comprise of their first Physical Education class. Kaede had relayed the instructions to them after their first morning class, informing them that they were to gather at the courtyard near open field in full P.E. uniform after lunchtime. Kirumi welcomed the prospect with optimism, though some of her classmates were a little skeptical of it. In the meantime, things progressed normally as the class idled by in preparation for their next morning class before lunchtime.

“Do you think ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ will work for a practice pick, Kirumi?” asked Kaede as she looked over the note sheets she had been perusing for the past few minutes. “Hmm. . . It might be too light. I was thinking Mozart’s ‘No. 20’ is good for a bit more vigor. The delegates from Julliard loved that when I played it for them at Tokyo. Or how about ‘La Campanella?’ I had that for my first performance piece at Shining Star.”

Kirumi looked over the sheets as she stood behind Kaede’s seat. “‘Rhapsody’ seems like a comfortable starter,” she said modestly. “And then ‘Moonlight Sonata’ should make for a nice follow-up to it as you progress. There is also Chopin’s ‘Prelude No. 15,’ and ‘Rondo Alla Turca’ from Mozart as well. Or how about ‘Sonata Pathétique?’”

“Ooh, I almost forgot about that one,” said Kaede, smiling. “You know your classical music pretty well, huh?”

Kirumi smiled back. “My former employers had records that they would play while they worked. That is how I learned to identify these pieces by name, and not just by hearing.”

“That’s so cool! I’ll admit, it’s a bit tricky to get people to recognize the pieces that way. Most of the time, they just know them based on their notes and how they go.” Kaede looked over the sheets one by one, her lips pursing in thought. “‘I might just add ‘Pathetique’ now that you brought it up. That’d make for a bit of a challenge along with ‘Campanella.’ So that means there’ll be at least five of them in a day for practice, starting from the easiest to the hardest, leading up to what I might play for the evaluations. I don’t wanna get too distracted by the sports festival to the point where I forget that I need to practice piano too.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I am here if you need my assistance in choosing or preparing.”

“Thank you, Kirumi, but I should be fine on my own. How about you? What do you have in mind for the evaluations?”

Kirumi stopped to think, and felt surprise well up in her as she found that she had not given her own exhibition for the evaluations much focus, engrossed as she was in helping her schoolmates—and Ryoma most of all. Such pressures were manageable, especially when compared to the rigors of her maid duties when she was in the employ of wealthy elites, but that was no reason to hold off on planning.

“Are you going to do an exhibit?” Kaede pressed. “Or are you gonna try serving people in a classroom or something?”

“Perhaps,” said Kirumi. “I would presume that a practical demonstration would fit my talent more, though I suppose it’s up to the school if they want me to serve people other than my schoolmates. Nevertheless, once we receive further guidelines for the evaluation, I should be able to come up with a proper prospect for myself soon enough. Thank you for reminding me, Kaede.”

“No problem!” said Kaede. “At least you’ll have it easier than the rest of us—I mean, well, not _easier_ to do, since it’s still hard work and all, but I’m sure your evaluation will just involve serving people as a maid, right?”

“That is correct. I might need to just decide on what I can prepare for it. Perhaps I can inquire for a proper venue where I can serve some food and drink to those who need them, or I can offer my full services to someone for a day, and assist them like I had done with my former employers.”

Kaede gave her a knowing look. “Well, at least you’re already practicing on that with a certain someone.”

Kirumi smiled. “In a way. But my time with Ryoma is not just out of duty.”

“I have to admit, you two seem to only get closer and closer as time passes,” Kaede teased. “A lot can happen in three years too.”

“I agree.” Kirumi glanced over at the spot where Ryoma sat, his beanie pulled over his eyes as he reclined on his chair, either in deep thought or asleep. If there was anyone who knew how starkly life could change on a dime, it would be the two of them, she knew. Her mind hearkened back to the memories that she had been revisiting recently, of her own estranged family back in Nara. So much had passed since she said goodbye to her former home, forsaking her life of pampered comfort in order to pursue her career as a maid, to the chagrin of her parents. Kirumi always imagined that she had already forgotten how difficult the decision had been on her part, or how spiteful her parents had become following her choice, but speaking to Ryoma about her experiences made her recollect things with a slow but surprising clarity. Since his first evening of practice at the gymnasium, she knew that she would have even more to share, if time and circumstance were willing. Lunchtimes were often spent with the rest of the class, and they had yet to follow up on the unspoken promise of discussing more in the privacy of Ryoma’s room.

Kaede leaned in a little closer. “It’s nice that Ryoma is doing a lot better when it comes to dealing with us, though I can tell that he’s still reserved about a lot o things. Not that I’d nudge him to try harder and all, though. I mean, he talks to me and the others, sure, but I always found him a little, ah . . . intimidating, even if he’s a smallish guy.”

“He’s definitely nicer than he seems,” said Kirumi, though she remembered how Shuichi had almost let slip on their first day what Ryoma’s past was, and she wondered if Kaede had any idea about it now. “He admits that he feels self-conscious when he speaks to you and the others. He assures me that it’s not because he’s being rude.”

“That’s okay. Maybe he just needs a bit more time to ease out of his shell,” said Kaede. “Again, if there’s anyone who can help him with that, it’d be you. You’re a good influence on him, in a sense.”

Kirumi paused for a moment, remembering the pain that Ryoma showed when he relived part of his trauma on his first time practicing again. “I truly hope that is the case,” she remarked.

Before Kaede could say anything in response, a voice pierced through their discussion. “Duh-doy! Anyone with a working pair of eyes and brains could fucking see that you’re better at dealing with the tennis shrimp than any of us are!” Miu strode over to their spot, the heels of her leather boots thumping against the floor as she went. Most of the class seemed to ignore her, a testament to how they were slowly getting used to her obnoxiousness. “As if it’s not already obvious with all the times you went a little extra with him. In fact, we’ve heard that you were taking your little quickies over at the gym at night. Pretty fucking bold, to be honest!”

Kirumi inclined her head with a modest air. “I am simply helping Ryoma with his practice for the festival, at his request.”

Miu grinned shrewdly. “‘ _At his request,_ ’” she repeated in a mocking tone. “Always have to throw in a bit of S&M there, eh? Well, your getup’s already a dead giveaway, so I guess that’s a given.”

“That’s not what it is, Miu,” said Kaede with reproach. “Geez, you should know better than to spread the same kind of stuff that Kokichi likes to let slip.”

“As if I’m gonna do what the fuckin’ grape gremlin does!” Miu snapped at her, oblivious to the irony. “Besides, Miss Maid-To-Order here’s not the only one being obvious with her recent hookups. You and Simphara aren’t exactly hiding things either!”

“You mean like you and Keebo?” Kaede retorted, even though she turned faintly pink at the mention of Shuichi. “From what I’ve seen, he speaks _glowingly_ of you, and defends you from Kokichi whenever he can. And I think I’ve spotted you coming to visit him at his room a few times already. Is that true?”

Miu drew back, turning red at a faster rate. “Y-You don’t know that!”

“I do,” Kaede pressed on. “Rantaro, Tenko and Maki noticed it too. Are you saying we’re all lying?”

Wringing her gloved hands together, Miu looked defenseless. “K-Keebone’s just . . . W-Well, he’s not. . . He needs someone to take care of him, okay?” she spluttered, casting a shy glance over at Keebo, who was engaged in a conversation with Rantaro by the window. “He told me that his deadbeat maker doesn’t have time to help him with his maintenance, and I j-just offered to do it for him, since there aren’t any nerds around here w-with the right brains and hands to do it!”

“That is a generous thing for you to do, Miu,” Kirumi told her, halting their argument. “I confess, I’m unfamiliar with robotics and the maintenance of complex machines such as them, so I cannot assist Keebo as effectively with his personal maintenance as I would want. It is good that you are able to help him instead.”

Disarmed by her compliments, Miu nodded. “Y-Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it,” she admitted. “I can’t let his parts seize up ‘cuz of all the junk that gets trapped in him. It’s kinda like babysittin’ a pipsqueak, to be honest,” she added in an attempt to sound more annoyed than she actually was.

“Okay, Miu, whatever you say,” said Kaede with a grin.

“Shut your nasty face, Bakamatsu!” Miu hissed. “As if you or anyone else here could understand the difficulties of being a gorgeous girl genius like m-me!” With that, she stalked off to save face, leaving Kirumi and Kaede to watch her with amusement.

“Well, at least she’s growing in her own way, huh?” Kaede remarked. “I’ve seen how soft she is with Keebo, though I’m still wondering whether he’d be enough to help her curb that obnoxious attitude she has.”

“You learn as you go,” said Kirumi, knowing how similar things had happened for her with regards to Ryoma. “Many of us have much to pick up on, but who’s to say we wouldn’t get where we want to go?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. As ragtag as our little group can be, I like to think that we can all get along.” Kaede giggled a little. “I guess that’s why they made me the class rep, huh?”

“I suppose so,” said Kirumi with a soft laugh. “But of course, your diligence and sense of responsibility are strong factors in that as well.”

“Thanks for that, Kirumi. I just hope they’re enough to help me get everyone in the right mindset for the festival.” With a sigh, Kaede looked around at their classmates, taking in the ragtag composition they had. “I can only wonder what’ll happen later in the afternoon.”

“At least we all have something new to look forward to, yes?” said Kirumi.

Kaede laughed. “Where the school’s concerned, you can never know.”

* * *

It was a clear afternoon when Class 80-A managed to gather in their designated courtyard, with other groups forming at certain spots near the open field; Kirumi realized then that the other classes were also holding P.E. classes of their own. It was an odd feeling to see everyone wearing their own P.E. uniforms—white shirts with their names and class section printed on the front, blue shorts and white sneakers. It was a surprising change given how frequently everyone saw each other in either their ordinary school uniforms or the outlandish garb that some wore. Now clad in whites and blues, everyone looked quite similar, with only a few who stood out because of their height, build or hair color. Some looked rather uncomfortable, both at the thought of having P.E. activities and at wearing a uniform that was starkly different from what they were used to. For Kirumi and Ryoma, however, it was nothing new compared to the physical activities they had been doing every day, and their P.E. attire felt less awkward for them than it did for the others. She eyed Ryoma as they went, feeling proud of how far he has come, though part of her still worried about his trauma and how it could act up in the future.

After a few minutes of getting in proper formation, their group was called out to the open field to meet their P.E. instructor. The first image that came to Kirumi’s mind was that they were looking at an actual Minotaur. Taller than even Gonta, with rippling muscles beneath the taut blue tracksuit he was wearing, their instructor’s face was completely hidden by the scowling visage of a bull’s head. It was a fearsome thing, black and white with a pair of curved horns, burning red eyes and even a metal ring through the snout. There were also long brown locks of hair that flowed from its crown, leaving them to wonder if it was their instructor’s hair or part of the intimidating headpiece he was wearing. The whispers immediately fired up.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

“I-Is he a cosplayer too? If so, that’s a well-made mask he’s wearing.”

“A renowned fighter. How intriguing.”

“His aura, so . . . _strong_ , even for a degenerate male!”

The bovine-headed giant straightened up, feet planted apart in a stance full of authority and confidence. “Good afternoon, students,” he called out to them. “I . . . am _Great Gozu_! And I will be your instructor for today!” His voice boomed through the open field as he thundered the words out loud.

Before anyone could react, Kaito blurted out all of a sudden, “Wait, are you really _the_ Great Gozu?! used to watch your matches back in the day! You were a total beast of a wrestler!”

“Oh, him professional wrestler?! Like Red Cyclone, yes?” Gonta cried out, staring in awe at him. “He just as strong too! Gonta feel it!”

“My master used to tell me about you,” Tenko joined in. “You would’ve made a great opponent for him, though it would’ve been a really big challenge!”

Great Gozu thumped a massive fist across his barrel chest; his physically boisterous demeanor reminded Kirumi of Nekomaru Nidai from Class 77-B. “I’m quite flattered that there are some of you who recognize me from my wrestling matches. Yes, I am _Great Gozu_!” Again, he bellowed out his name and thumped his chest. “I was formerly known here as the Ultimate Wrestler. I am here because my colleagues and I have been asked to help you prepare physically and mentally for the summer sports festival. Now, I know some of you are already busy with your own routines, but trust me when I say that a bit more physical activity wouldn’t hurt. After all, a strong mind goes hand in hand with a strong body!”

If anyone in the class had any questions or even thoughts of protest and reluctance, no one spoke them out loud; an equal measure of both respect and fear had swept through the class following Great Gozu’s words, as if they were daunted by his literal bullheaded visage or his obvious strength, or the fact that he was an alumnus of Hope’s Peak Academy. Great Gozu, meanwhile, looked over the lot of them appraisingly, and nodded.

“You look like a solid bunch,” he said in a baritone rumble. “Such strength and potential. Yes, there is much excellence waiting to be unleashed from within you all, I can already tell. Very well. Let us begin! Please group yourselves into two—men in one group, women in another. Go, go, go!”

He clapped his gigantic hands together, spurring them all into motion. They grouped up as instructed, muttering about the activities at hand and the commanding vibe of their instructor. Elsewhere on the field, the other classes were doing the same thing, with some already lining up for an activity or two. Their distant voices floated along in the vicinity, a mixture of calls from instructors and responses from the groups they were handling.

“Good,” said Great Gozu when their class had lined up in the same way. “For your first activity, we will be warming up for a while. Nothing too hectic; just a short five-minute jog before we do some hundred yard dashes to get the blood running. Even so, I want to see nothing but vigor and determination in you all. No lagging behind, if you can manage. Follow my lead!”

With that, he set off on a light jog, his tree trunk-like legs bounding heavily as he went. The class followed dutifully behind him, jogging side by side. Together, they rounded a sizeable oval and kept going at a steady pace. The clouds mercifully screened them from the sun at some points, and a high wind blew to keep the heat away. It felt like the sort of activity children in kindergarten would do with an enthusiastic teacher, though no one dared to complain as they followed Great Gozu. After a minute of jogging, Great Gozu broke off to let the rest of them continue, watching them from the sidelines and shouting in order to get them to run even better. Kirumi felt at ease, having grown so used to her morning routines that a simple jog like this seemed like nothing to her. A few times, she managed to fall in beside Ryoma, and the two of them would exchange brief smiles and nods whenever they did.

When their warmup jog was done, Great Gozu got them in line once again for their hundred yard dashes, herding them in line as he set down a marker where a hundred yards would end. As expected, mixed reactions cropped up for this; some like Kaito, Gonta and Kaede looked forward to it with optimism and even gusto, while those like Himiko and Tsumugi went with anxious resignation. Miu looked as if she would protest at any moment, and Kokichi hung back watching everyone with a lazy smile, as if he could slip away at any moment, though Great Gozu’s imposing visage seemed to make them both reconsider.

“I’ll call two of you at a time, and at random,” Great Gozu called out to them. “I don’t expect any world-class running from you all unless one of you is actually an Ultimate Sprinter. But again, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give it your all. _So do your best!_ ” His voice reverberated like a foghorn across the field as he bellowed the last phrase.

“Geez, you’d think we’re fucking deaf or something,” Kirumi heard Miu muttering behind her. “Do meathead teachers always have to be this annoying?”

“This is usually the part where I’ll do my best only to fall face first in the dirt,” Tsumugi remarked worriedly. “I guess I’ll just have to channel my inner Yamato Akizuki and hope for the best. . .”

Angie breathed deeply, a look of bliss on her face. “Atua smiles down upon us. Those who clear the first fifty meters in less than eight seconds will receive his blessing for the next three days!”

“Alright, settle down, we’re going to start!” Great Gozu boomed. He raised his hand, paused for a moment, and pointed his sausage-sized index finger at Rantaro and Tenko. “You two! Go on ahead and kick things off!”

Rantaro flashed a resigned smile. “Just like at the track meet at Hope’s Pass. Good thing this isn’t a competition.”

“Hah! This should be a piece of cake!” Tenko exclaimed. “All my training with Master chasing pickpockets and gropers on train stations is sure to pay off!”

In spite of the potential mismatches that could form, the activity soon had everyone engaged with some form of enthusiasm, whether by cheering on their classmates or channeling inspiration for their impending turns—a testament to the spirit of camaraderie that Hope’s Peak inspired. Tenko and Rantaro delivered a surprisingly close duel, with the Ultimate Adventurer shifting into a focused stance that belied his laid-back nature. In the end, though, it was Tenko who managed to edge him out, and she jumped for joy and punched her fists in the air; nevertheless, she was enough of a sport to casually commend Rantaro on his efforts. His pride intact, Rantaro complimented her as well, his words veering away from any untoward remarks that the Ultimate Aikido Master might misinterpret as advances. Kaede and Keebo came up next, with Miu screeching loud cheers for the Ultimate Robot and snarky banter for the Ultimate Pianist. It came as another surprise that Kaede delivered a stronger showing compared to Keebo, as the Ultimate Robot lagged behind at the halfway mark; Kirumi mused on whether his metallic composition weighed him down, or if his shy nature had anything to do with it. Nevertheless, Kaede and Keebo went back exchanging compliments and showing little concern about who won and who lost.

The first glaring mismatch came with Gonta and Tsumugi, one that no one in the class had expected. With childlike enthusiasm, Gonta tore through the short track with terrifying speed for such a large person, his face momentarily burning with sheer intensity, while Tsumugi could only hurry after him feebly. In true innocent and gentlemanly fashion, Gonta apologized profusely right after, worried that he might have scared Tsumugi, though the Ultimate Cosplayer was quick to commend him and give reassurance that no harm was done. The excitement following their brief matchup mellowed somewhat with Angie and Shuichi, who delivered a slower showing as they ran at equal speeds, with Angie looking unruffled at failing to meet Atua’s proclaimed standards and Shuichi being egged on by Kaito to do better in the next activity.

Korekiyo and Himiko delivered the second mismatch, with Korekiyo’s long legs giving him a stark advantage over Himiko’s short, childlike stature; the Ultimate Mage took the loss with barely any acknowledgment, looking more relieved than disappointed that the sprint was over and expressing her relief that her magic had stopped her witch’s hat from flying off. Following Gonta’s startling display was a similar incident with Maki and Kokichi; but where Gonta was wild and full of blazing life, Maki was sharp and cold as she shot across the track like she was made for it, leaving the Ultimate Supreme Leader behind in seconds. Kokichi did not acknowledge the sound thrashing he had just received, though he eyed Maki with a knowing, impish gleam in his eyes, as if he knew something about her that the others did not. For the penultimate pairing, Kaito managed to overtake Miu easily in their matchup, and while the Ultimate Inventor had thinly veiled disdain for the activities, she did seem sullen at the fact that she gave a poorer showing. Nevertheless, Keebo was there to her rescue, praising her efforts with optimism and reassurance. Kaito, on the other hand, puffed out his chest in triumph and saluted Great Gozu with a bow, who returned the gesture with a thumbs-up.

As soon as Kaito and Miu had been called together on the track, Kirumi knew that more eyes would be drawn towards her and Ryoma when their turn came last. It seemed like the oddest of coincidences, though Great Gozu could hardly be blamed for the accidental nature of his clandestine picking, she knew. When Kaito and Miu returned to their spot, Kirumi glanced over at Ryoma for a moment, drawing his gaze to her, and she imagined a hint of acknowledgment passing between them, unspoken but understood. Where the two of them were concerned in this activity, she wondered if Ryoma had any plans of holding back.

“Alright, that just leaves you two!” Great Gozu yelled as he pointed at them. “Get going, and remember: _Do. Your. Best!_ ”

Some excited whispers fired up as Kirumi made her way to the starting point with Ryoma, who looked relatively unperturbed. No doubt their classmates were having a field day fawning over the sight of them dueling, even if there was no official competition to be had. They paused to stretch for a few seconds before kneeling down on the trimmed grass to prepare for takeoff. Kirumi looked fleetingly again at Ryoma; he looked so grim and resolute, his small frame hunched like a predator ready to spring, imposing in spite of his small stature. For a brief moment, she understood why Kaede and some others might find him unapproachable still. As soon as their gazes met, he nodded once at her.

In an instant, they were off. The whispers rose to a sudden crescendo as soon as they left the starting point, but Kirumi did not hear any of them as she bolted forward. Her legs felt better than ever as they propelled her forth, and the wind soon flitted across her face, sweeping her bangs aside. As she went, she glanced over to her side for a moment and saw that Ryoma was intensely focused as well, his eyes narrowed as his small frame moved with the same impressive speed she had seen him display during his practice. It was a wonder that his beanie did not fly off his head, and it was only after a few fleeting milliseconds did she realize that they were neck and neck. She turned her head and focused her eyes forward for the remainder of the sprint, unable to decide whether she was speeding up to defeat Ryoma or simply finish strong.

When they finally cleared the marker, sporadic cheers and whoops were ringing out from their group, and the two of them reined in their momentum as they jogged for a few more meters before slowing down to a halt. Kirumi wiggled her legs one at a time to ease their tension, taking in deep breaths to nourish her lungs, feeling her veins afire from the exertion, enlivening and emboldening. Next to her, Ryoma had his hands on his hips as he recuperated, the makings of sweat trickling down his face, where his intensity was starting to dissipate. Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up at her, and she grinned.

“I guess we did well,” she remarked candidly.

Ryoma nodded, panting a little. “Looks like it. You didn’t hold back, did you?”

“I have no idea,” Kirumi confessed, laughing.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Ryoma conceded with a chuckle.

Together, the two of them went back to the rest of the class, where they were immediately set upon by some of their classmates. “Honestly, you two looked amazing out there,” Kaede gushed. “It was a very close race! I mean, I know there’s no competition and all, but still—”

“I should’ve known you were athletic deep down, Kirumi!” Tsumugi joined in. “I knew it was a given! How many times have I read _Maid and Chaffeur: Thrilling Tale_ to not remember how Etsuko Oji was a maid moonlighting as an Olympic-grade athlete? Was that where you drew your inspiration from?”

“You did pretty darn well out there, Ryoma,” Rantaro stated with a smile. “I guess that’s a glimpse of just how fast you could be as the Ultimate Tennis Pro, eh? I thought you and Kirumi were gonna give Gonta a run for his money!”

Gonta, meanwhile, looked like a child who had just witnessed a real-life superhero materializing before him. “Ryoma and Kirumi strong! Move so fast, like wolves on hunt!” he cried out excitedly. “Did other forest family teach Ryoma and Kirumi too?”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough! Everyone get in line again!” Great Gozu yelled, sweeping his arm to call everyone in. “You all did pretty good out there, so well done. Well done, indeed. We still have a few activities left for the afternoon, though, so don’t be afraid to keep your momentum up!”

As everyone scrambled to group up together again, Kirumi could not have felt more inspired at that moment. Their classmates’ collective praise and surprise gave her a pleasant feeling inside, no different from the commendations she would receive for doing honest work as a maid. Again, she fell in beside Ryoma, and again their eyes met. He smiled up at her, and Kirumi sensed his excitement at the next time they would be alone together, discussing these encounters fondly over a hot cup of tea.

* * *

The afternoon wore on, and though sweat and exhaustion stepped in for many, there was no shortage of odd camaraderie and jovial inspiration for everyone involved. Great Gozu directed them as they went on with the rest of their activities—high knees, backwards jogging, some aerobic exercises and a minor relay race that covered part of the oval around the open field. Part of it was spent with some in the class instructing Gonta about what to do for the relay race, though once he picked up on the basics the Ultimate Entomologist managed to rush through his part with the same frightening speed he had displayed earlier. Nevertheless, the others did their best, with Maki coming in second as she delivered a surprising upset against Tenko and Korekiyo combined. Those who had finished passing their batons lingered to cheer for their groupmates, with Kaede, Angie and Miu cheering the loudest for the likes of Shuichi, Keebo and Tsumugi who needed a boost of confidence. And again, Kirumi and Ryoma wowed the rest of the class with their own athletic displays, aimed more at the process rather than the results, while Great Gozu nodded with approval on the sidelines. On the other parts of the field, similar displays were occurring, with gales of laughter and loud cheers resonating in the open air, proof of the surprisingly enjoyable nature of their activities.

When everything was done, Great Gozu had them cool down with a number of stretching and static exercises for a few more minutes. By then, the sun had retreated behind the clouds, sparing them the ordeal of enduring their tiredness in the afternoon heat. “That was very well done. Good work to all of you!” he thundered when they were finished. “Some of you could use a bit of work with your physical prowess, but I commend you for trying all the same. It was an honor supervising you all for today’s activity. Good day!”

At that, their activities came to an end, and everyone was given the chance to do what they will for the rest of the day. Some decided to go back to the Ultimates’ quarter immediately for a quick shower at their rooms, while a few lingered on the open field to bask in the afternoon’s atmosphere. Angie, Himiko and Tenko left together as they went back to the dorms together. Surprisingly, Maki joined Kaito alongside Shuichi, Kaede, Tsumugi and Gonta to the main building. Miu hurried off with a mortified Keebo, citing that they were late for his afternoon maintenance session. Rantaro and Korekiyo walked off to one side, discussing the details of Rantaro’s recent travels to the Mediterranean as Korekiyo offered him some advice on island culture. And as usual, Kokichi vanished without a trace, presumably to take care of some form of mischief again.

Kirumi stayed behind to help Great Gozu pick the markers they had used for their activities, with Ryoma helping as well. Their instructor did not notice them at first—due to both his mask and immense size, Kirumi mused—until he spotted Ryoma stacking the markers he had gathered. With their combined efforts, they managed to collect all the markers and return them in front of one of the equipment sheds near the field.

“I think we can just leave these here now. The maintenance team will come by and put everything away eventually,” Great Gozu rumbled when they were done. “Thanks for the help, you two. You didn’t have to assist me, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“We’re just doing our part, sir,” said Kirumi with a polite bow.

Great Gozu grunted. Together, they walked back out on the open field. “Good showing out there earlier, by the way,” he said as they went. “It’s always refreshing to watch talent flourishing the way it did earlier with you both, and with some of your classmates too. Are you an athlete by any chance, Miss . . . ?”

“Tojo. Kirumi Tojo. And no, sir. I’m the Ultimate Maid.”

Great Gozu inclined his head. “That’s surprising. But I suppose that’s part of your training as a maid, to be physically fit and able like that. Either way, you showed one hell of a performance out there on the field. Your form would put some of my protégés in Kansai to shame!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Great Gozu nodded, before turning his intimidating gaze on Ryoma. “You too, Mr. Hoshi,” he went on. “Many have seen your matches back then, myself included, and let’s just say it’s been a while since I saw you joining anything that’s related to sports.”

Ryoma grunted. “Yes, sir. It’s been a long while.”

“I take it you’re adjusting rather well to the new environment?”

“Yes, sir. It still takes some getting used to, but I’ll manage.”

“That’s good. Your enrollment here came as a bit of surprise for a lot of people here, to be honest,” said Great Gozu. “Then again, I’m in no position to speak of it that way, and besides, Kizakura’s instincts haven’t failed him yet when it comes to great potential. When Headmaster Jin caught wind of you, he lobbied hard to have you here. I think that was more than enough to convince the skeptics.”

Ryoma nodded. “I can only hope that my past doesn’t catch up to me here, sir, so that I won’t disappoint those who made sure that I could come here.”

Great Gozu stopped and stared at him for a moment, his expression unfathomable beneath his bull mask. “I think it’s best if I spoke a bit more bluntly about this, Mr. Hoshi,” he stated quietly. “What happened with you back then, what you did . . . nothing can be done to change that, and there will always be people out there who choose to see that instead of who you were. Personally, I cannot approve of your crime, even if I understood why you did it. It was a highly regrettable affair, highly regrettable.”

Kirumi observed Ryoma as she continued listening to them, feeling some of his shame and discomfort at the veiled admonition that Great Gozu was giving. Nevertheless, Ryoma seemed to shoulder the sting of the remarks well enough as he nodded again. “It was, sir. No one regrets that more than I do,” he muttered.

“But you are here now, like so many before you who have walked through these hallowed grounds to greatness,” Great Gozu continued. “And now you have your second chance in life. I say, _use it!_ ” Again, his guttural voice resounded across the field, turning a few heads towards them momentarily. “Seize that chance, and make the most out of it! Your professors can never stress that enough, which is why they never tire saying it to you all. You are Ultimates. You were all chosen for a reason, and that is to become the hope that the world needs to keep going! That is why it’s encouraging and enlivening to see people like you grow, because of and in spite of any dark past you might have. To see you running out there again, showing hints of your old form and marching in step with everyone else to the future, I would consider that an honor. And the same goes for you, Miss Tojo!” he said suddenly, looking over at Kirumi now. “Your potential and determination can be seen easily in the way you move and take on what is asked of you. Some may consider being a maid quite lowly, but your commitment to your chosen career deserves to be commended.”

Kirumi felt startled as she listened to the words being directed her way out of nowhere now. Great Gozu’s words were nothing new, but they invoked a sense of determination and pride nonetheless, and he spoke like he knew a lot more than he was letting on, enough to guess certain things about her correctly. Of course, such assumptions were often nothing more than hit-and-miss observations, particularly in those who claim to see what lay beneath a person’s visage after years of experience, but it was an odd marvel that such guesses hit their mark more often than not. She held her head high, moved by the passion and praise in their one-time instructor’s words. Even Ryoma looked caught off guard by the fact that he had received an inspirational nudge instead of more dressing-downs. It made her feel glad to know that many in the school wanted to see him succeed the way she did, more so than the gratification she felt for herself when met with such approval.

When Ryoma looked unsure as to how to respond, she decided to speak for him. “We will do our best not to disappoint the academy, sir,” she said. “Thank you for your encouragement. You can be sure that we will keep it in mind as we study here.”

Great Gozu gave them a nod, ostensibly satisfied. “Seeing you standing where the old guard before you stood years ago, going through the same motions we did, working hard for the future in spite of our lowly beginnings, it brings me way back.” He turned his gaze upon Hope’s Peak Academy’s surroundings with an air of nostalgia. “The halls of this place are filled with enough wisdom and inspiration for you to use. It is up to you to find that, so you can face September with steel in your body and fire in your hearts!” he declared. “When the cameras start rolling then and people everywhere watch what takes place here, I hope that you will hold your heads up high and show them what it takes to be Ultimates!”

“. . . ‘Cameras?’” asked Ryoma in a surprised tone. Next to him, Kirumi felt her composure receive a slight jolt.

“Yes!” Great Gozu let out a short bark of laughter. “Did you all think that your time as Ultimates here in the school goes by unnoticed in the country? Here, you will have a grand stage that is better than any of the arenas I’ve competed in. Once you are asked to show what you have learned at your evaluations, the entire country—no, the entire _world_ will bear witness to your skills and growth! There’s no better time to show what you are capable of!”

The school bells began ringing in the main building, signaling the end of classes across the campus. “Well, that’s my cue to go back in,” said Great Gozu, straightening up. “Just keep doing your best, you and your classmates and everyone else here, and show the world that you’ve got what it takes to lead everyone to a better future. I wish nothing but good fortune and success for you all! Until we meet again!”

With that, Great Gozu saluted them with a thump of his fist on his huge chest. He turned and made his way to the main building, his lumbering strides covering distances quickly for a man of his size. Kirumi and Ryoma watched him go, still startled at the revelation that he had shared to them inadvertently in his fervent speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long haul for this chapter, and I sincerely apologize for it. The past couple of weeks have been hectic with writer's block, chores and tutoring, to the point where I just lack either the time or the energy to write. Thankfully, I had more than enough help from my best friend cheering me on and giving me ideas, and I'm proud of what I turned in. I hope it all makes for a good read for you guys. See you in the next upload!


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